Lies, Loyalty, and Hermione Granger
by NeuroticMuse413
Summary: Sequel to LOVE, LUST, & DRACO MALFOY. Hogwarts falls victim to mysterious animal attacks. All eyes turn to Draco Malfoy, resident werewolf, but his allies know better. Now, Hermione must prove his innocence before the lies tear them apart. Rated M.
1. Monotony Has Its Perks

**LIES, LOYALTY, & HERMIONE GRANGER  
**_By NeuroticMuse413_

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**DISCLAIMER:** I don't own Harry Potter. Duh.

**SUMMARY:** Werewolf!Draco. Werewolf!Hermione. It's December and the fight against the rising army of werewolves has taken its latest victim. When the adults around them refuse to help, the newly united Hogwarts takes up arms against Voldemort's influence. Hermione and Draco must now choose between the relationship they've built and the lies that threaten to pull them apart.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** This is the continuation to _Love, Lust, and Draco Malfoy_, not necessarily the sequel, so PLEASE read that first. I promise I won't make this horribly serious like I did for _SpellMaster's Revenge_ after _QMG_. Also, I wrote this chapter while watching _The Princess Bride_ and have decided that Westley the Farm Boy would make the most perfect Draco ever, minus the spiffy mustache. Yes, above Boyd Holbrook. I said it. You may dream of him as I do while you read. Lol.

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**CHAPTER ONE:** _Monotony Has Its Perks_

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December was Draco's favorite time of the year. Well, it was _now_. The weather was so horrid outside their beloved Hogwarts that Hermione only ever wanted to stay indoors anymore. Though the Order insisted on keeping the status of their hunt for Voldemort a secret from them all – probably at the behest of Narcissa Malfoy – they had managed to learn that Blaise had publicly joined the ranks of Voldemort. And, that made Draco jumpy at the tiniest ghostly shuffle in the distance.

He and Hermione had fallen into a pretty comfortable routine since September's melee, instigated by him but wholeheartedly accepted by her. They would wake up together and Draco would walk her to her first class. She had no idea how he was never late to his own classes. He had the uncanny ability to be able to navigate the castle with zero difficulty. After seeing Malfoy Manor's maze-like corridors, she was not surprised.

Then, just as she exited her class, there he was again to walk her. He never carried her books or something silly like that. She was more than capable of carrying her own things as she'd done for years before. But he was always there, always smiling and always with some story to tell about Finnegan's eyebrows or the state of Quidditch around the world.

She'd follow him to the field where he and Draco and sometimes Ron would practice. Though he was no longer on the team, Draco just enjoyed the flight. When they first began, students would gather around them as they chased each other through the air, fighting for the Snitch as Ron chucked Bludgers at them a bit too enthusiastically. Harry's game had greatly improved since they began but Draco was in it for the competition.

Now, two months later, nobody but Hermione and Ginny came to watch. They chatted on the stands until the boys tired, usually just before sunset. Hermione and Draco would veer off the path back to the castle, his arm draped over her shoulders protectively, and they'd shower together. That was her favorite part of the day: stripping him of his Quidditch armor. He did not need to wear them. He could avoid the Bludgers better than anyone on the team, but he wore them just for her. He saw the glint in her eyes when she saw him in uniform, walking towards her from the field, covered in sweat.

After their shower, they'd head straight to dinner. He and Hermione always ate together, side by side, in the Great Hall. They only ever stayed inside for dinner if Hermione was caught up in a lengthy homework paper and needed the extra time. He didn't care. He just picked up a book and did his own or found something to read. He liked being in her presence, no matter the activity.

He watched her now from the chair beside his window. It was snowing frightfully outside and the boys had to cancel their Quidditch practice. She lied on her stomach atop his rug, her ankles crossed in the air, her nose buried deep in her book. She scribbled on the margins quickly, trying to get it over with as soon as possible, as always.

He smirked at her, running his hands over the pages of his book. He'd been on page 529 for the past hour, too distracted by the hem of her skirt and the way it grazed the back of her thighs as she absentmindedly moved her legs about. She smiled, feeling his lustful eyes on her.

"Draco," she called in a sing-song voice, her eyes fixed on her quill's speedy motion. "Do I have to take your eyes out and put them in a jar again?"

He cleared his throat and lowered his eyes down to the book on his lap. He suddenly realized it was the third volume of _Warts, Acne, and Bodily Fungi_ by Rosmerta Babbit and grimaced, throwing it onto the bed, horribly disillusioned. He took to staring out the window instead.

The castle towers could be seen in the distance, enveloped in snow and dripping ice. The Quidditch field was beyond that, barely visible, just a gray blob with flags on the horizon. The lake, however, was beautifully frozen and the students had taken to ice skating atop it, rather stupidly. From time to time, they would break through to ice and the Giant Squid would have to pull them out. At one point, it got very annoyed and tried to swallow one as a warning, though the girl was quickly spit out.

It reminded Draco of the lake behind Malfoy Manor, of skating with his mother when he was ten and his father was away. As soon as Lucius left on business, he and his mother would leave the stuffy house and read out in the gardens. They had picnics and she watched him swerve on his broom between the trees like a sugar fly.

"Bored?" Hermione asked sweetly, her book closed before her. He turned back into the room and shot her a sad smile. She got up off the floor and sat down on his lap, laying tender kisses all down his neck. "What are you thinking about?"

"Home."

She stopped her kisses and their eyes met. She seemed to be searching for the answer in the gray mist in their minds. She could never quite hear words, only emotions. He was… nostalgic or just disheartened? She understood that he had said goodbye to Malfoy Manor that day he woke up at Grimmauld Place but she didn't like it one bit. She didn't like that he had given his whole life for her, his past and future, his beliefs… What had she given up? A single night a month? She thought of this often but hated being reminded of it as she tried to excite him.

"The Manor?"

He nodded and continued to stare out at the frozen lake. "We leave on Christmas vacation in a week. I'm sure the Ministry—"

"Yea…" he whispered, interrupting her thoughts. "I'm sure they'll be done ransacking it by then. But it won't be the same."

It seemed he was still in that other world he often drifted off to without her, the little place where his memories came alive again. She caressed across his cheek, tilting her head to the side. "Why not? Is it your father? Tell me."

He scoffed at the mention of his father. "You won't be there, 'Mione. I might as well spend Christmas in a cupboard with Potter."

She laughed. "I'm not letting you sleep in a cupboard, you jerk. It's just two weeks! Stop being dramatic."

He still didn't look her in the eye. He didn't want her to see his worry. He wasn't a romantic sap. He could stand to be away from her. He just couldn't stand her being out there with Muggles, unprotected, in the open. He'd already begun plans to follow her, put some sort of warning system on her… she didn't have to know. Potter and Weasley seemed more than happy to let her go out on her own. Were they crazy or did they know something he didn't? His ego refused to believe the latter.

"You could always come with me to my parents," she suggested shyly for the fourth time since the first snowfall.

_I'd rather teach a hippogriff how to ballroom dance,_ he thought miserably.

He shifted her legs so she'd be straddling his lap more comfortably. "Mother insisted I spend it with her at Grimmauld. You know that."

She shook her head. "What if we can't get back together before Christmas Eve? It's a full moon this year, Draco. You'd have to change alone in that retched place."

"Don't be silly," he said with his usual charming smile. "I hear Mother's taken to decorating."

Hermione laughed. "I'm sure she's got the dust bunnies marching in single file by now, probably scared them into submission with a single icy glare."

He pursed his lips and feigned annoyance. "That's my mother you're talking about there, love. Watch it. And I'm sure it would have taken at least three icy glares. Those dust bunnies are seriously cheeky bastards."

He gave her a quick kiss on the lips and slid her off, his mind elsewhere. He gathered all his books together on the bed, as he did every night. She watched him curiously from his seat by the window. He'd cut his hair a month ago because he was starting to look like a hippie and that was hardly fear-inspiring. She'd once mentioned she preferred it long so he kept what might be described as girlish bangs just for her. Of course when Ron brought this up, Draco very quickly corrected – through gritted teeth – that on him, they worked as manly tufts of hair strategically covering his eyes and thus, his emotions from his enemies. Hermione and Ginny laughed for some time after that and didn't quite catch the end but Draco had apparently started making arguments based on wind dynamics.

A few moments passed and he'd just finished gathering his books. She smiled as she admired the way he moved, so graceful for such a gangly boy. He sat on the bed and started to tie his shoes when suddenly, he spoke and it broke her concentration.

"'Mione, you're staring again," he said to his feet, his brow furrowed. He was so meticulous about something as silly as shoelaces.

She smirked and answered, "Yes. Creepy, isn't it? Now you know how I feel every other night."

They both froze, realizing what she'd let slip. He snapped to her. "What do you mean?"

She gave a casual shrug. "I know you can't always sleep still so you stay up and watch me. It's alright."

He shook his head and quietly gulped, standing slowly to face her. He seemed genuinely afraid to ask so it took him a moment to gather his courage. "How do you know?"

She crossed the room and rested her hands on his chest. "Because I can see myself through your eyes," she whispered lovingly. "At first I thought it was a dream but it isn't, is it?"

He tucked a strand of loose hair back behind her ear. "And what do you see?" he replied in his husky voice, her favorite. No matter what he said or where he said it, it made her feel like she was the only person in the world. "Through my eyes. How do you see yourself?"

She blushed and looked down at the floor. "You allow yourself to be persuaded by awe, Mr. Malfoy. I am nowhere near as beautiful as you make me out to be."

"Then you don't just see. You _feel_."

The soft blush turned into a burning sensation, spread through her blood. "I'm sorry. I've invaded your mind."

He laughed sharply and bent down to kiss her neck, placing a soft bite at her favorite spot. Her body went limp in response and her mind turned foggy. _Damn him. Damn him and his nimble trickery._

"It's alright," he answered, letting her escape his grasp if she so wished. "I've invaded your bed, most unceremoniously too. I think we're even."

She took a step back, trying to clear her head. She cleared her throat and walked over to her own shoes by the side of the bed, slipping into them quickly. She needed to get away from him, just for a little bit. "I'll… uh, meet you at dinner. Okay?" she mumbled, rushing for the door. He stretched an arm out to stop her but she was already gone.

He sighed and decided to head down to the Great Hall, as planned. Dinner had already begun so the halls were mostly clear. There rarely came down on time but there was always a pair of seats waiting for them between Ron and Harry. He sat down with a soft plop which made Ron jump, spilling his pumpkin juice.

"What's wrong with you? Are you trying to give a man a fright?" he complained, pushing Draco off towards Harry.

Draco merely laughed. "What man? I see no man. The only people who ever get 'frights' are little six-year-old girls, you twat."

Harry chuckled and looked around the hall. "Where's Hermione?" he asked Draco, who'd begun serving himself some turkey tetrazzini with apple juice. He shrugged. "Don't you do two, like, have your steps coordinated and synchronized and catalogued according to puddle sizes?"

Draco shot him a look. He didn't like having his relationship judged, especially not by them who did not understand the dangers they'd gone through. "It's true," agreed Neville. "I don't know how you can even breathe. You're all over each other all the time."

Draco gave Neville a big grin, looking him over through his eyelashes. This wasn't what Neville had intended to say, merely that they were always seen together, but it was too hard to ignore the invitation for trouble. "It's my animal magnetism, Longbottom. You should know something about that now that you're getting your socks off with Pansy."

Ron choked on his spaghetti. "What?" he squawked.

"Oh yes," added Draco, reveling in his own tantalizing knowledge. "Hermione and I saw you two yesterday---How would Weasley put it? Getting it on?"

"We were not! She's just… really friendly," corrected Neville lamely. "She has a very keen interest in herbology."

Ron was shooting him deathly looks. "Traitor," he mumbled into his fork.

"You're not jealous, are you, Weasley?" taunted Draco. Ron drove the fork into his knee beneath the table, causing Draco to yelp out into his fist. "You bastard! I could have your head for this."

"Pfft. As if you won't be fine in the morning. Get over it, you drama queen," said Ron, reaching over for Draco's fork.

Draco growled loudly from low in his throat, glaring at Ron. He went to pull the fork out but Harry stopped him. "I've heard you're supposed to leave those things in."

"That's if you have a piece of glass lodged in your throat or a knife to the chest, not a measly little fork to the thigh. Besides, Weasley stabs like—"

"A girl. We get it," the others said all at once. Draco rolled his eyes, pulled out the fork, and jabbed it into Ron's plate in retaliation. He whispered something in Ron's ear, which made the poor boy turn instantly pale, and limped out the door, trying not to get blood on the floor.

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Hermione followed her feet through the castle, only to find herself back at Gryffindor Tower, as always. She didn't want to get away from Draco. She simply had an idea, one that excluded him. If she stayed, he would have figured it out. What terrified her most was the possibility that he could read her mind the way she saw into his, the way she was _beginning_ to see. She looked for a piece of parchment and a quill lying about the common room and scribbled down a quick letter. It read:

_Dear Narcissa,_

_I hope you're doing well. I'm sorry I didn't respond to your last letter sooner but I've been caught up with homework, as you can understand. Yes, Draco finally cut his blasted hair and he does continue to look pompously handsome. His ego is, as always, a nuisance. I'm considering chopping off the hair while he sleeps and selling it back to him but I know he'd only get back at me in some horrid, public way again. If you can think of some soft-spot I can exploit, do let me know. You'll be happy to know he's forgiven you for telling me about that teddy bear he used to have. Mr. Frodo and his companion, Mr. Sparkles? Ron couldn't stop laughing for a whole hour. He was late for Potions. _

_Draco has also told me about your renovations to your new home and would love a chance to see for myself. I was hoping to visit my parents for Christmas but I think I may have devised a plan to have us all together after all. That is, if you wouldn't mind throwing one of your infamous dinner parties. Let me know if it sounds agreeable and I will run it by the others here. Maybe Alastor will finally draw up some courage and ask the big question. I can't wait to surprise Draco, though. _

_Much love,_

_Hermione._

She looked at the clock on the wall. It was nearly time for dinner and she couldn't reach the owls on the other side of the castle, not in this weather. Though everyone was mostly at dinner, she managed to catch Ginny still getting ready by the foot of her bed. She was so slow these days.

"Hey, Gin!" Hermione called, swerving between the beds towards the cage with Pig. He slept with Ginny ever since Ron decided his parents would only get him a new one if his current one got eaten by… well, anything. "I'm just using Pig really quick."

Ginny nodded and made sure the way was clear when Hermione ran back out. "Wait!" she called just as Hermione reached the door to the stairs. "Can I talk to you about something?"

Hermione sighed and nodded, playing the good friend. She sat down on the foot of the bed beside Ginny, her empty hands limp in her lap, and said, "Go on."

"I think Harry's hiding something from me."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's probably just your Christmas present. He could barely shop for himself, let alone a girlfriend. He's probably freaking out."

Ginny shook her head and Hermione realized then that her eyes were puffy and then as though she'd been crying. "He's been meeting with Dumbledore a lot," she confessed. "In secret. And he always comes back looking so… harried, and he doesn't talk to me for hours after. He just stares off at the wall and yesterday, I caught him with this scary-looking knife. A knife, Hermione!"

Hermione looked again to the path out of the dormitory. She'd been so close. There were no problems between her and Draco and that made her feel like the whole world was at peace. If she'd just kept running and didn't look back, she didn't have to know the troubles of others, of the darkness that crept into their lives even still. Now, Ginny was bringing her back to reality and it hurt. It hurt all over.

She took a deep breath but the pain didn't go away. It was in her heart, spreading off into her arms and legs, cutting off the oxygen to her brain. She doubled over, gasping for breath, and she realized it was not _her_ pain. It was Draco's feral self escaping, calling out to her through the ether in the gray mist. It didn't feel right. She thought she was dying, not falling in love as she usually felt.

"Hermione!" Ginny shouted, bending down to help her off the ground.

"There's something… wrong… with Draco…" she mumbled through gritted teeth, her eyes shut tight as to better navigate the mist for some sort of answer.

"Where is he, 'Mione? Can you hear me? Where's Draco so I can help him?"

Then, as quickly as it began, the pain started to numb itself through her. She sat up on the floor, able to open her eyes for the first time. "We have to find him. Come on," she whispered and jumped to her feet. She didn't wait for Ginny and ran down the stairs towards the halls. She didn't know where to go, merely that she had told him to meet her before the Great Hall and that he would most likely take this route.

Her mind went crazy with chance. Did the Slytherins get him? Did Voldemort? Was he ill? Did he fall down the stairs? Did he have a tummy ache? No, that would only be too easy and she was not that lucky.

She rounded the corner and there was Draco, standing before a body, covered in blood. The body had been mangled. Large slashes ripped it open across the face and torso as though a great beast had straddled him and swung its arms across the boy's flesh. Yes, she saw him clearly now. It was a boy and a small one at that—so fragile and now so broken.

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_Don't worry. He didn't do it, sort of. Next chapter, more complications and maybe those flying lessons I promised. And, DON'T FORGET TO ADD US TO YOUR STORY ALERT LIST!_

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**Reviews are better than Draco's nimble trickery.  
**Let's give this story a happy send-off, guys! Tell me your favorite part so far.


	2. Slow and Sweet

**CHAPTER TWO:** _Slow and Sweet_

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_The playlist has become the only way I can focus while writing. The ending to this chapter was done with many thanks to Dashboard Confessional's "Currents" and James Blunt's "Carry You Home." It explains all the fluffy yet angsty bits. Lol. Forgive me. _

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Hermione didn't realize she wasn't breathing till Ginny ran up behind her and helped hold her upright. It wasn't quite the horror of seeing Draco standing over a dead body that left her so pained. It was the blood. It looked… tantalizing.

"Draco?" Hermione whispered. He turned to her for the first time but his eyes weren't golden or feral in the least. He looked terrified, like the day he'd arrived at the Weasleys' after being tortured. His clothes were intact though so he hadn't shifted and the blood only seemed to cover his hands and knees as though he were trying to resuscitate the boy.

"Hermione, I didn't—" he began but his hands were trembling before him. He thought he was losing her every second she stood before him, seeing the blood staining his hands. He couldn't bear to have her think him a murderer, a beast. She'd forgiven him for a lot of things. This was the last straw.

She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the shock and the lure. "Is he alive?" she asked timidly, gulping down the rest of her bloodlust.

"Yes, but I can't get him to wake."

Ginny, sure that Hermione could stand by herself, rushed to the boy's side on the floor, uttering the spells Hermione had taught her. Draco took a step towards Hermione but she just stepped back, licking her lips. She tried not to show emotion but that only made it worse.

"Oh God, 'Mione!" called Ginny from the floor. "It's Colin! Colin Creevey!"

Hermione gulped, shut her eyes tightly, and turned her nose away. "Hermione, I didn't do this. I promise," he said to her cheek from across the hall.

"Ginny, try to close the wounds. I'll go get Pomfrey and McGonagall," she answered in the calmest voice she could muster. It sounded eerily dead and Draco began to wonder if she cared at all, if she always saw him as the beast. She looked to him. "Stay here, Draco. Don't move and don't do away with the blood. It would only make you seem guiltier."

He nodded and watched her go, her eyes fixed on the floor to avoid the sight of blood. He walked over to the wall and slid down against it till he could easily hug his bloodied knees.

"Don't let him die, Ginny," he mumbled into his sleeve, wiping his brow as cleanly as he could. "If he dies, I think I'd lose her."

Ginny was too busy shouting spells to really notice. Every time she closed one gash up, another gushed out. "I'd start praying if I were you," she answered briskly, her voice low and menacing. Unlike Hermione, Ginny wasn't quite so sure of Draco's innocence.

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Hermione didn't have to convince Pomfrey she was telling the truth. As soon as she mentioned Draco's name and a mauled child, the old nurse was running for the door towards the Great Hall. Snape was already at the hallway, keeping the doors to the dining hall closed so no one might see.

Pomfrey knelt down and said a spell which sent bandages flying every which way. Ginny had sealed most of the gashes but, in her haste, she may have left him with a few scars. The blood was everywhere and he still wouldn't wake. Knocks were sounding on the doors of the Great Hall, threatening to tear it down.

A loud booming voice rang through the hall and the knocks stopped. The students' feet could be heard pitter-pattering away and everything went silent.

"Step aside, Severus!" shouted Dumbledore from within the hall. Draco moved out of sight of the students as the doors opened and McGonagall, Dumbledore, Flitwick, and Slughorn stepped through, looking annoyed and a little worried. As soon as they saw the body on the puddle of blood on the floor, McGonagall shut the door behind them. "What's happened here?"

"It's Colin Creevey, Professor," answered Hermione, stepping forward since Pomfrey was too busy with the body. "He was attacked by some sort of animal."

All eyes turned to Draco who stood against the wall, his head lowered in thought. He caught their eye and shrugged. "Don't look at _me_. I just found him."

Flitwick scoffed. "How convenient that it should be the only werewolf in school who finds the mangled body."

Snape, Ginny and Draco's eyes flew to Hermione. Of course Draco wasn't the only werewolf in town but Hermione didn't have a drop of blood on her. She made damn sure of it. Dumbledore needed an answer and he knew he wasn't going to get it with the ignorant Flitwick in the room. So, he turned to the little man and said, "Professor, if you would excuse us please. We have some delicate issues to discuss."

Flitwick happily went back to his dinner, giving no answers to the students waiting silently inside.

"What happened?" asked Snape through clenched teeth. He looked to Draco as though he'd betrayed him, a father ashamed of his son. Lucius was not capable of this look. He never cared about Draco the way Snape cared for him. Lucius would never have cared that Draco broke his own rules of conduct, the he . He would only have cared that Draco embarrassed _him_ and his family's name.

"I just came down the hallway on the way to Pomfrey's because Weasley stabbed me in the thigh. I got really dizzy suddenly and I smelled the blood in the distance. I ran to him and I tried to see who it was but he was barely breathing and—and—" Draco stopped to catch his breath. His eyes were wild. He couldn't do it, couldn't continue.

Hermione's protective instinct kicked in and she said, "And I came down the stairs with Ginny because I got the same dizzy warning and saw him. Ginny can vouch that he hasn't shifted and I was with her mailing a letter so neither of us could have done it. It wasn't us."

Draco let his shoulders drop, relaxed. He shot her a smile but she could barely look at him. Dumbledore gave a nod and told them in a much calmer tone, "No one has died today. For this we can be thankful. Professor McGonagall, please alert the staff that we have some sort of animal loose and that the students should be escorted to their dormitories until further notice."

"You believe us?" asked Draco, honestly confused.

McGonagall went on her way into the Great Hall and Dumbledore cocked his head to the side and stared at Draco curiously. "Should I not?" he asked innocently. "You've been truthful so far and Ms. Granger and Ms. Weasley would not lie about something so heinous. The evidence is in your favor, Mr. Malfoy, unless there's something you'd like to tell me."

Draco shook his head. "It's the truth. I didn't do it, sir. I'm just not used to having my word so easily accepted."

Dumbledore laughed lightly and helped Madame Pomfrey levitate Colin's body towards the hospital wing. He turned and gave the three students a look and a nod that in no uncertain terms said, "Go to your rooms too and _stay there_."

Ginny nodded and started herding the two off, up the stairs. As soon as they were out of earshot, Hermione stopped walking and gripped Ginny's arm, turning her so they'd be face to face.

"Ginny, I need you to get to Gryffindor Tower. The boys will be there soon. Tell them they need to search the castle. Tell them to check the map, use the cloak, do what they can to get—"

"I understand," said Ginny quickly. "Just take care of Malfoy. He looks like he's just had a stroke. Both of you."

Hermione looked back up at Draco, whose bottom lip had started trembling. He extended a bloody hand out for her but she only saw the blood on the surface, her eyes turning gold with desire. The wolf was knocking at her shell, begging to escape. She shook her head and walked past him on the stairs towards their rooms. His heart felt like it was shrinking to the size of a walnut.

"Ambergris," she told Liam and the portrait swung open. It opened into Draco's room, since that's where they usually slept. Her bed was always overflowing with books and they were always too tired to clear it. Tonight, she crossed the bathroom without a word and started clearing the books. He understood.

He followed her, stopping at the bathroom door. He called her name softly. "Don't do this—"

She stopped fixing up her books and faced him, her face stern. "Draco, I believe you. I beg you. Just take a shower and go to bed. I can't stand the smell of blood. I just can't!"

Her eyes began to water and his weakened heart couldn't stand to look at her anymore. It didn't matter how many times she said it, whether she believed him. Something was different between them. So, he gave a nod and closed the door behind him. He stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower, setting the water practically to boiling. He scrubbed and scrubbed until he couldn't get at it anymore.

Two hours passed before he left the shower. He hadn't even noticed the bathroom door open. Hermione stood against the wall, the mirror behind her, with a towel draped across her hands. Her eyes were softer, apologetic.

"Hey," she whispered. "How are you feeling?"

He stretched an arm out to take the towel, afraid to get closer. Did she not want him to touch her? Is that why she had banished him to the other bed? She took a deep breath and smiled, finally free of that horrid smell. She took two large steps forward and wrapped the towel around him, rubbing his arms up and down to warm him. His skin was on fire from the bath and the cold air of the castle sent him shivering uncontrollably.

She hugged him, trying to keep him in one piece. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart," she whispered, kissing his neck softly, swiftly. He relaxed, practically collapsing. He was freezing. She realized this and led him to his bed, sliding his naked form under the sheets. She rushed to the closet in her room and pulled out more sheets to cover him with, smothering him to the neck and rubbing him to warm him. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry…"

"What the bloody hell are _you_ sorry for?" he asked, his voice high. He gave a small laugh, just happy to have her touch him again, even through four layers of thick cloth.

"I'm sorry. I just saw the blood and it made me so…"

He stopped shivering and sat up against the backboard. He furrowed his brow at her, interested. "Made you what?"

"Hungry," she responded deep in her throat, terribly ashamed.

He relaxed further, pulling an arm out of his cocoon to caress her cheek. "I should be sorry then. I'm the one who made you like this."

"Just… shut up and go to bed, please."

He laughed. "Are you crazy? There's a monster out there like us, 'Mione, probably sent by the Dark Lord himself! No one's sleeping tonight."

She sighed and stood up off the bed. She reached for the zipper on her skirt and started to undress. "Fine," she said, practically ripping off her clothes. "Don't sleep, but we're not leaving this place."

He shook his head. "No no no no…" he muttered, ripping the sheets off. "You are not doing this. You are not going to distract me, Hermione. We have to find this thing. What happened to the girl who jumped into the middle of a massacre last September? Huh?"

How dare he question her courage? She was a Gryffindor. "I did that for _you_. And I'm smart enough to know when to stay indoors. This thing, if it is what we think, it's trying to set us up, Draco. Can't you see that? Please! For me! Just go to bed."

He was restless but he was no fool. He slid back into bed and patted the spot before him, gesturing for her to join him. She sighed with relief and gladly went to bed. He didn't sleep but she was too exhausted and drifted off soon after.

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Hermione awoke, too late and too tired to get out of bed. Classes would of course be canceled and everyone would be put on house arrest until further notice. She, for once, did not mind. She didn't feel quite up to sitting in lectures. She turned in bed, only to find it empty except for a note on his pillow.

She cursed his stubbornness and read:

_Dear Hermione,_

_I couldn't sleep and I didn't want to bother you. So, I've gone flying where no creature can get me. I'm sorry to leave you and I'll be back before lunch. They should have found whatever it was by now, hopefully. _

_Yours always,_

_Draco_

She rolled out of bed and slipped on her nightgown and flimsy robe. It was going to be freezing out there but she didn't care. Her fury was enough to keep her warm from the falling snow. She cursed his name all the way out the portrait hole, through the empty castle, and to the Quidditch field, muttering like a crazy woman all the ways she was going to castrate him and post him up on a pole in Hogsmeade so the townsfolk could ogle till their hearts content.

She reached the field and kicked the last bit of snow off her slippers. She was luckily thin enough not to fall through the snow, not that the worst had fallen yet. Winter had barely begun. She saw him wooshing about in the sky as soon as she cleared the field gates. She knew that, without a wand, she'd never call him down so she sat herself down on the stands and watched.

An hour passed and the cold was starting to get to her but she didn't move. She just watched, the mutterings subsided and replaced by awe. She never tired of watching him zip through the sky so effortlessly. The wind was blowing his hair about, those manly tufts which only served their purpose in the sky where the wind could force them back. She smirked, suddenly remembering the ferocity in his eyes as he defended his choices.

She stopped muttering completely and quietly watched as the sun hit him, causing her to chase his silhouette across the sky towards the Forbidden Forest. She held her breath as he neared the edge, then let it out as he took a wide swerve back towards her. The sun got in her eyes and she didn't notice him swerving straight for the high stands above her. He finally saw her, sitting there in her own bubble of melted water. She was radiating heat around her, even as she calmed.

Blinded, she didn't notice he'd spotted her till he landed on the stands high above her with a loud crash. She jumped to her feet and ran to meet him but he was perfectly fine, smiling brightly. She wrapped her arms around him, nearly pushing him back off the field.

"Whoa whoa whoa, 'Mione!" he shouted, sitting them both down.

She pulled away from the crook of his neck and slapped him clear across the face. "When I say don't leave the room because there's a monster out there, I bloody fucking mean don't leave the room because there's a monster out there!"

He laughed and kissed her quickly, to shut her up more than anything. "Come fly with me," he begged, taking both her hands in his and ignoring her words completely. His puppy dog eyes and jaunty smile were too strong to ignore.

"What, are you Frank Sinatra all of a sudden?" She stopped and thought about it. "Acapulco would actually be really nice right about now."

He shook his head and pulled her to her feet. He always had this glisten on his face after a good, long flight and his smile was always at its purest. She loved noticing these little things because only she was privy to them, only she got close enough to him to notice and only she saw the beauty in the little things. It made him a little bit more… hers. It made _them_ intimate.

"Draco, you know I hate flying," she groaned and looked down as he reached for his broom. She was still in her flimsy nightgown and had no idea how to even mount a broom. She hadn't been required to do so since her disastrous lesson in first year. She remembered that, as much as she and Draco had in common intellectually, he was of a different spirit. He was fearless, down to the bones.

"Don't be afraid," he said with a moan. "I'm here."

He settled the broom and mounted it, waving her over. He clutched her wrist and mounted her before him, clutching the handle between her legs. She yelped as he lifted them off the ground gently and she slid into his body behind her.

"Draco, for the love of Christ! Put us down!" she shouted, shutting her eyes tight, her hands over his on the handle. He only laughed. Their feet were barely a meter off the stands. "We need to get back home!"

He leaned closer, if that were possible, and whispered lovingly in her ear, "You're my home, Hermione."

She whimpered uselessly and opened her eyes. She remembered Narcissa's words, detailing Draco's adventures through the sky from a young age. If she wanted all of him, she was going to have to penetrate this world too. She took a deep breath and nodded.

"Alright…" he began. "Take the handle and hold it strong and steady but try not to jerk about too much. Just slow and sweet, aye?"

She disguised a terrified whimper in a laugh. "Slow and sweet," she echoed, nodding. It sent the broom forward a bit and she yelped. He held her waist with sturdy, sure hands. She had no idea how the boys and Ginny could do this! She felt like she was riding a rather unsteady feather. In her nightgown!

"That's it," he cooed, nuzzling his face in her neck.

"Aren't you looking?!" she shouted. "Who's driving this freakin' thing?"

The broom jerked a little but they still hovered gingerly over the stands. He gripped her waist and she felt steady again. She knew if this thing went crashing down, he was going to come crashing too and no amount of gentle prodding was going to put their bones back together.

They hovered for a few more minutes and Hermione was sure he'd fallen asleep in her neck. She whimpered again, her voice unusually high and squeaky. "Draco," she whispered gently, afraid he'd jerk awake and topple them. "Please get me down off this thing."

He gave her neck a sweet, slow kiss and she relaxed, involuntarily letting her head fall back. The broom tilted backwards too and they started to fall but she didn't care. His arm wrapped around her waist, the other gripping the handle and steadying them again. After that, she was sure they weren't going to fall. His reflexes were amazing as though he were listening to her heartbeat for any shifts.

"I can't do this in a day, Draco, and we have to get back. Come on. Set us down."

"You do it," he said in that eerily calm, careless voice. As terrified as she was, she liked this Draco. He was so light, so fearless as though he'd left all his monsters on the ground.

She couldn't believe she was doing this but she called upon her one untimely lesson all those years ago. She leaned the broom slightly forward, back towards the ground. A turtle could outfly her but she landed nonetheless, hyperventilating as soon as he let go of her waist and they dismounted.

"Don't do that to me again!" she scolded but his eyes were dreamy. He seemed… high? She drew closer and lifted his chin so she could see into his stormy gray eyes more clearly, looking for dilated pupils but remembered that most magical drugs hid those effects. "Draco, have you had something to drink or… What did you do?"

He gave a scary laugh and pulled her towards him by the waist. She remembered this was his favorite spot to hold her when they stood in class or a hall. It was his claim on her to the other animals in their wake.

"Don't be silly," he lied, but it was too late. She'd seen.

"Draco… are you even… _awake_?" she asked but his nonchalance gave her the answer she required. Suddenly, she wasn't so sure of his innocence, or his state of mind. She played into his delusions and gently ushered him back to bed through the snowy field. She didn't know how she could go from being his lover to being his caretaker in a matter of minutes but she didn't like it. In the morning, he was going to have a _lot_ of explaining to do.

-----

_No, the monster—whatever or whoever it is—does not attack again for a bit. Poor thing. But, as we all know, when it comes to monsters, one must always see Hagrid first. More is explained from the boys' search of the castle and more flying lessons later. _

-----

**Reviews are better than manly tufts of hair.  
**_Yes, I'll come out and say it. I am one _huge_ review whore. Can you blame me? _


	3. Wrong Thing to Say

**CHAPTER THREE:** _Wrong Thing to Say_

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Draco awoke to the sounds of arguing through the bathroom. He instantly thought of intruders and jumped to his feet, running to Hermione's rescue. Alas, it was only Potter and the Weasleys.

"Do you people know what time it is?" he asked groggily, rubbing at his sleepy eyes.

Hermione scoffed. "Do _you_?"

She hadn't told the others of his state that morning but she was sure Ginny would catch on as soon as she saw Draco. "Long night, eh?" she asked with a cocky smirk. "Only you two would 'stay indoors' while there's a monster on the loose."

_Nope,_ thought Hermione. _Totally missed the issue at hand_.

"You know," corrected Draco. "I don't take kindly to your use of the word monster. Not all monsters are bad."

Harry rolled his eyes. "We're not talking about Shrek here. This is a werewolf. Snape and Pomfrey confirmed it last night. They're giving it 24 hours to reveal itself."

Draco sobered instantly, the memories of the boy's body coming back in a sweltering rush. He cursed to himself and stumbled towards Hermione's bed, his hand over his eyes. "Is he okay?" asked Ron half-heartedly. He didn't really care. Draco had been nothing but a thorn at his side and his past just continued to stab Ron every time he turned.

"Look, we'll give you two some privacy now that he's conscious," said Ginny, dragging the others out. "We're going to talk to Hagrid and rule out another Fluffy on the loose."

Draco rubbed at his eyes, trying to wipe the memories out. They stung mercilessly. He heard the portrait hole close behind them and relaxed. "Seriously. What time is it?"

"Six. In the afternoon," Hermione answered, her arms crossed, standing before the foot of the bed. Her tone was acid, threatening. He cringed at her volume. "Draco Malfoy, what did you take?"

"What?"

"I saw the way you acted this morning. I'm not an idiot. What did you take?"

He sighed but didn't answer. He watched her glare at him for a few more minutes, tapping her foot expectantly. "Damn it," he growled. "It's not important. It was a one-time thing."

"Draco, where did you even—"

He chuckled, closed his aching eyes. "I'm the former Prince of Darkness and you're asking me where I got drugs? Five months ago, I could have put together an orgy in five minutes if I'd wanted."

He brought the pillow over his head, dwelling in the smell of her hair. She'd recently switched to a new lemony shampoo, which he didn't really care for but hadn't said anything to her about. The pillow still smelled of the old her, of that distinct perfume he could never pin down since, as far as he knew, she didn't wear perfume. He'd read about it in her werewolf books. It was the scent of a mate, meant to keep him coming back for more. And it worked. Every time.

She didn't reply and he started to get worried. He hadn't heard her move. He lifted the pillow slightly and caught a glimpse of her standing there, still cross-armed, staring at him. Only, her eyes had begun to water and he felt a great wave of guilt.

He extended an arm out for her, gesturing for her to join him in bed. "'Mione, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you mad. I just wanted the stupid images out of my head for a little bit," he said. He could play the guilt card with the best of them. But she still wasn't talking. She just stared, letting the tears flow on their own.

"Hermione, just say something!"

She shook her head and wiped away the tears on her sleeve. He realized she was wearing a long-sleeve gray shirt and dark blue jeans. She looked like a little, angry cloud. "How could you?" she whispered.

"How could I what? It was a little pixie dust. It's not like I'm planning to take over the evil underground."

She just turned around and walked to the portrait hole. She stopped just before opening it, turned towards the vanity table, and threw a brush at his head. He dodged it with ease but was left with a profoundly confused expression of his pale face. With a huff, she stepped through quickly but not quickly enough. Draco still saw the tears and the pain in her eyes. He'd hurt her more than he realized but didn't understand why. He knew he wasn't going to find her again because she would not want to be found, but he needed answers.

He jumped off the bed and headed for the portrait hole just as it swung open and hit him straight in the nose. He let out a long, loud string of curses and jumped around holding his face in his hand. He caught a glimpse of short, dark hair and a classic Slytherin sneer and grimaced.

"What do you want, Parkinson?" he asked, sitting down on the vanity table to inspect his nose. It was fine and he was just exaggerating. "Should you be giving head to Dumbledore or something?"

"I don't think I'm his type, if you know what I mean."

She laughed and went to sit on his bed as though it were her own. No matter how much he warned her not to come into his room, she always found herself back there looking for punishment. He found this slightly ironic since, as far as he remembered, she preferred to dish out the punishment rather than receive it. He wondered if it was the fact that he had forsaken her and gone for another girl, a Gryffindor of all people. He wasn't sure anyone from her own house had done such a thing before, not even Blaise.

"Then what is it now?"

She shrugged and reassembled the pillows on Hermione's bed. "I saw your girl walking off in tears and thought maybe you needed a little cheering up."

Draco watched her through the mirror. "Parkinson, you're a whore," he said very matter-of-factly. She only smiled as though it'd been a compliment. He shook his head and ran his hands through his hair. As much as he hated to admit it, Pansy was the only other girl he could talk to that he could trust wouldn't squeal to Hermione. He looked down at his hands now resting on his lap and admitted, "I fucked it up with her."

Pansy gave a soft chuckle, lying back atop the pillows. "It was meant to happen sooner or later, love."

"No, I've fucked it up before but this time I kind of have no idea why."

She brought her hands up behind her head and shut her eyes. "Elaborate, please."

"Well, I'm sure you've heard what's happened with Colin Creevey," he began. She moaned a yes. "I found his body and I was a little out of it and I couldn't sleep and she'd acted a little distant since she saw all the blood on me and everything so…"

"So…" she urged on, sitting up suddenly. "Please don't tell me you screwed another girl."

He gave her a look like she'd just said something truly stupid. He had never been the type to be with two at the same time. He would rather end it if ever tempted than hurt her like that.

"I took some pixie dust and went flying. I know. I know. Don't fly while high but come on! She sees me standing over a mauled body and doesn't care but minor drug abuse she starts crying over? Seriously?"

Pansy seemed to be honestly confused as well. "You didn't tell her what you and I used to do with pixie dust, right? How you liked to snort it out of my—"

"Of course not! What do you take me for, an idiot?" he interrupted quickly.

"Well…"

"Don't answer that." He hid his face in his hands and groaned. "Should I go after her?"

Pansy shrugged again. "Believe it or not, I don't hold all the answers. Just because I'm a girl, that doesn't make me all-knowing."

"You're useless then."

She smiled because she knew that was his way of saying "Thank you for trying." She jumped off the bed, shook off Hermione's presence in the room, and walked towards him as seductively as her short little self could manage. Draco smirked because he knew Hermione could do it so much better. Her legs, compared to this girl, were legendary.

Pansy leaned into his ear and whispered, "And stop fucking around with Ron or I'll stab you myself."

Draco watched her sashay out the portrait hole, feeling slightly sick at the implications of her words. All her words. What if Hermione knew what he used to do with Pansy? Hell, with any other girl. What if she was angry at something completely unrelated?

_Damn Hermione and her unpredictability,_ he thought. He knew girls. He understood their evil ways. He did not, however, understand Gryffindors. It was then that he wondered if Hermione was out of his league. His poor ego couldn't take it anymore and went in search of her.

It seemed he was only capable of stupid moves.

Classes had to have resumed because people were everywhere and none of them seemed too worried about the possible monster loose about. They did seem to travel in larger groups now though but that was to be expected. Fear made humans huddle together. He sometimes wondered if that was what had drawn him to Hermione but that was ridiculous. To him, Hermione was fearless.

Hermione was no where and yet she was everywhere. Usually, he could sense where she was by a small warmth that followed her through the air, a warmth that seemed to reach his cheeks when she was in the vicinity. Then, there was her soothing, salty scent which he had fixed on after all their nights together. He knew her like he knew himself but tonight, the warmth would not go away and yet the smell was nowhere.

He made his way towards the Quidditch field because it was nearly sunset and he thought he should tell Potter himself that he wasn't in the mood to fly. That was, if Hermione hadn't gotten to him first. He realized that, if this truly was a Gryffindor's moral dilemma, he was going to have to consult an actual Gryffindor.

Luckily, Harry was still flying by himself in the distance. A group of girls was just leaving the field as Draco entered. They smiled at him and he found himself struggling not to smile back. He knew a kiss was cheating but what of a smile? He so didn't want to provoke Hermione further and his cheeks were still on fire. He felt like she was watching him. Always. He wouldn't mind if she were actually there in person but there was no one around now, not for kilometers. It was such an eerie feeling.

"Yo! Potter!" he yelled, waving Harry down. He didn't feel like flying at all and again he blamed his guilt.

Harry reached the ground and by his calm exterior, he probably hadn't talked to Hermione yet. "Hey, man," he answered, extending an arm out for their little sportsmanlike shake. "What the hell did you do to Hermione?"

Or maybe he did know. "You're going to have to be more specific because I seem to have pissed her off over nothing."

Harry laughed and dismounted, leading him over to the stands to sit. "Give me specifics."

"She just caught me doing a little pixie dust. It wasn't a big deal and it's not like I was going to sleep any other way."

"That's it?"

Draco threw his arms in the air, his face showing his frustration. "When did you last see her?"

"She came out here and sat down like thirty minutes ago, looking all sad. I asked her what was wrong and she said you were a douche, which I did not find at all surprising."

"Ha ha, Potter. Honestly, neither do I. See, if I knew what had made her so mad maybe I could find a way to apologize. She won't buy a generic apology. What's Hermione got against drugs?"

Harry shrugged. "Nothing as far as I know. She covered for Fred and George two years ago when their mum noticed the smell in their room so she can't be _so_ morally opposed."

Draco relaxed a bit. He was glad that Potter hadn't just shooed him away or tried to punch him out in retaliation. In fact, they didn't try to strangle him anymore when he playfully slapped Hermione on the behind or punched her lightly in the arm. He would never hit her but any wrong touch could send a Gryffindor fuming with anger. Now, they were really used to it. Potter even gave him advice on how to appease her. It was almost as though… they approved of them, of him. And Draco began to consider whether they'd still be his friends if Hermione chucked him, quite thankful for any presence they might have in his life.

-----

When he returned home to their rooms later that night, Hermione was asleep in her own bed. She'd changed into her nightgown and, by the quickly dissipating cloud of steam in the bathroom, she'd just showered. He hated seeing her in that blasted yellow nightgown. He hated how cool it felt against his skin at night in winter when all he wanted was be warmed by her creamy flesh.

He gulped down his desire to lie next to her and bent down to kiss her forehead lightly. She stirred but didn't wake and he made his way to his own bed for the night. She did not come looking for him later, as he expected she would, but he slept at the foot of the bed as the usually did to watch her sleep.

He lingered in and out of consciousness until dawn when he felt her move in the next room. She got up, dressed, and left without a single word.

Friday.

Saturday.

Sunday.

Monday.

Not a word.

And he was too much of a coward to ask her what was really wrong.

-----

Hermione sat down on her bed that Sunday night and looked off through the bathroom to Draco's room. He had probably gone off for the library or the Quidditch field or his favorite tree by the lake. He hadn't come to dinner in a while, probably to give her her space, and she hoped he was still eating. He could easily forget to eat and she always had to remind him. How that boy had survived without her all these years, she had no idea.

She'd heard Draco packing last night and felt a strange urge to rifle through his things. She'd just finished packing her own bags a moment prior and wanted to relax but found herself unable. She felt like she hadn't exhaled in days. She heard a tapping at Draco's window and slowly crept across their rooms to open it. It was a Malfoy owl. She recognized it by its blue and gray feathers as Eliza, Narcissa's favorite.

"Hey you, pretty girl," she whispered, opening the window to stroke the dear owl's head. "I've missed seeing you around here."

The bird cooed and nibbled softly on her finger. She laughed and took the note from its leg, reading it quickly.

_Dear Hermione,_

_That sounds like a fantastic idea! How does Friday the 20__th__ sound? I've already begun planning and I have a room all set up for you two with the cutest Gryffindor décor. Yes, I know it will only piss him off. Alastor is ecstatic to have you both over and, of course, your parents if they're willing to put up with little ol' us. I assume they know about you and Draco. _

_Alastor was informed of what happened to that Creevey boy. They haven't released what sort of creature was responsible but am I to assume it was a werewolf? If Draco is in trouble, I would like to know where to send the cavalry. He'd never ask me for help. Now that his father's gone, he only ever goes to you lot. I know you can both more than handle it yourselves but I would still like to know if I should be worrying right now. _

_All my love,_

_Narcissa_

Hermione didn't write a reply because she didn't feel it was her place anymore. She had no idea how Draco was or if she should worry. In three days, he could turn his world upside down and nobody would notice.

The portrait hole opened and she jumped a foot off the ground, holding the letter over her heart. It was Pansy, prancing around in low-cut jeans and a bright red tank top, meant to accentuate her chest.

"Oh hello," she greeted, equally surprised. Hermione crossed her arms and didn't answer, merely turned around and went to close the window. "He's not addicted you know."

Hermione snapped around and shot her a look. "Excuse me?"

"To pixie dust. He's not addicted or anything. You really shouldn't be so mad at him for no real. It's not fair to him. I mean, all he does is try to please you all the time. Is it so wrong of him for him to relax once in a while?"

Hermione looked down, trying to avoid her gaze, and realized Pansy was carrying a long, silver gift box. "Is that for him?" she asked softly, trying not to concede the point.

Pansy nodded and smiled brightly. "It's a sword he lent me once. I had it repaired for him, got all the blood out of the crevices on the handle and fixed up the nicks and whatnot. Ever since Blaise left the school, there's no one else to—"

Hermione shut her eyes tight, knowing exactly where this was going. "I don't need the visual! Thanks!"

Pansy snickered softly and set the box on his bed beside his suitcases. "Anyway, tell him thanks."

Hermione nodded and watched her go, thinking about her words. Did he really think that's why she was angry? She decided they'd gone without speaking long enough and set out in search of him. She searched the usual spots but there was no point. He didn't want to be found either. She looked through castle until dusk when she headed back to their rooms to see if he'd come back. She opened the portrait hole and looked to the bed, imagining he'd be there, waiting for her.

He wasn't. His suitcases were gone from the bed, along with Pansy's gift. The whole room had been cleaned out, relieved of any sort of personal detail. It was as though he was never really there.

Hermione allowed herself a single tear before grabbing her own things and readying herself for the train ride back home without so much as a kiss goodbye from the boy she loved.

-----

_Sorry I haven't updated sooner. I completely forgot about this story. See? This is why you need to review! Coming up! Hermione tells her parents the truth, Draco gets to "know" Alastor better, and an argument leads to two very steamy proposals. Muahaha! And yes, the attacks continue and Draco is totally going to get blamed. _

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**Reviews are better than five-minute orgies. **


	4. Truth Hurts

**CHAPTER FOUR:** _Truth Hurts_

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_I know! I know! The last chapter was awful! But honestly, do you want them to be all happy all the time? There is a reason for her being all grr and it _will_ be explained. Patience, my witches in training. Patience. Just keep in mind this is story is rated M and it deals with language, sexual situation, and overall kinkiness. Warning you here, yet again, because you can never warn someone enough. _

_Oh! And! I just became a US citizen last week! So, I find myself wishing you all a happy memorial day. Enjoy._

-----

She knew she was dreaming but she didn't care. His lips were making their way up her bare legs, tickling her beneath the water. She laughed and threw her head back as his hand slid up under her shirt and clawed into her ribs, dragging along the lines of her bones.

She called out his name and suddenly awoke, mortified to find her legs spread wide open under the sheets and her panties practically soaked through. Dear God, she could still feel his hands on her and her ribs were starting to pink up as though somebody really had clawed their way across her torso. Had she done it to herself in her sleep? No. This was different. If she could see herself in his eyes, he could force himself into her dreams.

She opened her bedside table and pulled out a piece of parchment and wrote, _You bastard. I know what you're doing. Don't start something in our dreams unless you can finish it in real life._

She folded it up and set it down on her vanity table, saving it for next she saw an owl.

"Hermione, dear!" her mother called from below. "Come down to dinner!"

"Just going to take a shower first, mum!" she shouted down the stairs.

Her mother looked down at her father who stared at the mashed potatoes with deep desire. "Another one?" he groaned. "Did she develop some sort of germ phobia or something at that school?"

Mrs. Granger laughed and sat down on the table. "Go ahead, Marcus," she said. "She won't mind if you start."

Mr. Granger waited for his wife to take the first bite but she never did. She had decided to wait and so, as part of some sort of secret marital vow he'd somehow inherited, it meant he was to wait as well. He crossed his arms like a petulant child and slid forward into his chair. Ten minutes later, Hermione came running down the stairs. Her parents eyed her suspiciously then dug into their now cold dinner.

"Something you want to tell us, dear?" Mrs. Granger asked over the rim of her reading glasses, reminding Hermione of Dumbledore when he spoke to Harry.

She shook her head and slid down into the chair, staring firmly at the pumpkin centerpiece. "Just worried about my exams, as always."

They seemed to believe it and went on with their food. A few minutes later, a memory struck Mr. Granger and he gave a jump in his seat. "Oh! 'Mione! You're going to love this!" he shouted, flinging mashed potatoes at the wall. "How'd you like to take a trip with us to Italy for New Years?"

She gulped and shook her head. "I'm sorry. I can't," she whispered. "I've made plans."

They dropped their forks and turned to her. "What sort of plans?"

Hermione sighed deeply and pushed her plate aside. She knew they wouldn't be hungry after she told them the truth. "Alright… Mom. Dad. We need to talk…"

-----

1 Hour Later

-----

"HE'S A WHAT?!" shouted Mr. Granger, pacing before his wife who sat frozen and staring on the living room couch.

They'd let her speak her peace but they only seemed worried that Draco was a werewolf, not necessarily that she was. "You do get that I'm one too, right?"

"I'm going to kill him," mumbled Mrs. Granger.

Hermione rolled her eyes and said, "You can't kill him, Mom. He's a good guy. It was an accident. We're ok. _I'm_ ok." She felt like she was repeating some sort of mantra. Why did the others automatically jump to blame Draco? No wonder he ended up on the dark side. Everyone put him there since he was born. Maybe it was just the Malfoy name that struck fear into the world.

"You love him?" accused Mr. Granger.

Hermione stared at him for a moment, her eyes tired from lack of proper sleep. "I do, Dad. And he loves me, and we've been invited to his mother's house for Christmas dinner so I would appreciate it if you were civil about it."

"I refuse," said Mrs. Granger and the others turned towards her.

"To be civil or to go?"

"Both."

Mr. Granger gave a sharp laugh, relieved he didn't have to say it himself.

"Mum, don't be ridiculous. I have always respected your wishes but this is important to me. The next full moon is on Christmas Eve. I have to be with him or it can get very dangerous. Now, you can either come with me or you can stay here but I'm going to that dinner, mother," she said with stern finality and stormed up the stairs to her room.

-----

Draco awoke with similarly wet sheets and rushed to the bathroom to shower. The last thing he needed was his mother or one of the Order walking in. Grimmauld Place had certainly changed since last he'd been there. The walls had wallpaper. The tables had tablecloths. And yes, Alastor Moody's globs of hair were brushed back into a ponytail. He'd grown a beard that was neatly trimmed and gray in all the right places and he even wore clean robes to dinner.

Draco was impressed but there was something strange going on. Everyone seemed to look from Alastor to Narcissa to him all through the awkwardly silent dinner and it was starting to irk like chafing track shorts.

"Is something going on here I should know?" Draco asked through narrowed, suspicious eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about, dear," said Narcissa with a devious grin. Draco knew that grin well. He owned that grin.

"Right," he allowed, not wanting to push the issue. He had too much on his mind to really care. Knowing his mother, she'd probably just thrown away all his baby things or given away the Manor to some underprivileged cult or something equally insignificant to him.

"So… how's Hermione?" asked Tonks, sitting beside Lupin. Both had large, goofy smiles on their faces which Draco recognized as gestures of love. He'd sported a similar smile not a month prior and everyone at the Gryffindor table was equally as annoyed and disgusted. They were holding hands under the table, no doubt. Draco wasn't sure how they could do this, how they could be so sappy when Hermione had told him what Tonks had wanted her to do.

Draco gulped down his barely bearably dry corn bread and answered, "With her parents."

Narcissa snorted. "I know _where_ she is. I want to know _how_ she is."

"She's fine," he grumbled through gritted teeth.

"Right," echoed Narcissa, not wanting to delve into this mess further. Whatever was going on between them, it was probably Draco's fault and he should apologize. They all knew it. Draco knew it. There was no point in giving advice by this point.

-----

A few minutes later, Hermione heard her father's reluctant shuffle up the steps. He paused before her door and knocked twice, softly. "Sweetheart, open up."

She got up off her bed and pulled open the door. "Yes?" she said, haughtily. He shot her a look and she dropped the attitude instantly. "Sorry, Dad."

"Well, you should tell your boy we'll be going over for dinner. But only Christmas dinner! We're not staying over," he specified. Hermione smirked and nodded. "And lose the smirk, young lady. I'd like to see the grin on _him_ because you certainly didn't get it from Harry and Ron, or from us."

She smiled brighter because of course she got it from him and she began to wonder what other little traits they'd be able to pick up on.

-----

Draco received Hermione's letter near dawn. They'd both stayed awake without knowing and Hermione decided she was going to send the owl before she lost her nerve. She didn't want the dream version. She wanted the real Draco, in body as much as mind. And, she was willing to forget everything if it meant having him one more night.

Their second day back home, they kept looking up the stairs or through hallways, expecting to see the other. Then, as soon as they sat down to read or talk with family, the lust would drive their minds astray. And, their families had learned that talking about their lives back at Hogwarts was a deadly subject indeed.

They were in hell. It'd been two days away from Hogwarts and they were already there.

"Fine," Draco muttered to himself, reading over the note. It was the first note she'd left for him in days. He couldn't even remember what her voice sounded like in his head, only the feeling he got when she was near. "If that's the way you want it, you're on."

He rifled through his bags and found the Orb of St. Anthony. He closed his eyes, whispered her name, and, as though a compass had been activated in his heart, he knew exactly where she was. He smirked to himself and grabbed his cloak off the back of his chair. He mounted his broom and closed his eyes again, letting his inner compass guide him.

Hermione's house wasn't far from Grimmauld Place but he had to be very careful not to get noticed. It was the dead of night and he could barely see in front of him, which served him well except he kept dodging buildings. Damn skyscrapers everywhere.

He reached the two-story house in the distance. It was the same as almost every other house on the block and hidden behind two tall ash trees. He landed on one of the upper branches and looked into the window. A couple was asleep and he knew it had to be her parents. He flew off towards the next tree and surely enough, there was Hermione sitting up against her pale wood headboard, a wand and book in hand.

He leaned off into the window precariously and tapped twice on the glass. She noticed him but just rolled her eyes and flipped the page in her book. He tapped again but lost his balance and came crashing down three branches, landing right on his crotch. He yowled into his fist, cursing softly. A dog barked in the distance and Crookshanks pressed his already flat nose up to the glass a floor below. Draco sneered at him and attempted to climb up the few branches.

He called for his broom and floated up to her window yet again. She stood there, frozen, her eyes buggy. She gulped and unlatched the window, pulling it open. She extended a hand out for him, helping him step inside. He jumped into the room and wrapped his arms around her tighter and tighter till he was sure she understood.

Her arms lingered by his side until she couldn't stand it anymore and hugged him back. "I've missed you," she whispered, trembling under the cold of his skin. Flying at this time of night, at his usual reckless speeds, she was surprised his skin hadn't turned to ice.

"I'm sorry," he said but she just scoffed, her breath visible before her.

She reached over and closed the doors behind him, still caught in his tight embrace. "You don't even know what you're apologizing for, Draco."

He shook his head. "I don't care. Whatever it is, I'll never do it again. Just don't send me away tonight, 'Mione."

She wanted to cry because she knew it couldn't work like that, as much as she liked. "You will do it again, Draco. You will because you don't understand how much you scared me."

He pulled away and sat her down on the bed, kneeling down before her. He took both her hands in his and begged her with his eyes. She cringed and looked away.

"Tell me what I did, Hermione."

It took her a moment to speak. She sniffed, trying to steady herself, and answered so softly that he barely heard it. "You left, Draco."

He furrowed his brow and dropped his hands. "What? When?"

"That night, Draco. You left me."

"To go flying? Is that why?"

She shook her head again, sending her gentle curls flying across her face. "When you went to sleep, Draco," she growled, playing tug-of-war with herself. She'd told herself he had to be punished, that he had to feel what she felt before it sunk in how much it tore at her insides. "I brought you to your room, helped you change, and you went to bed. And no matter what I did, no matter how hard I struck you or shook you or called your name, you wouldn't wake. Do you know _terrified_ I was? And then, all of it was gone, replaced by an anger I couldn't control…"

He stood up and stepped back, eyes wide and distant. "I—I can't—I didn't—"

She reached for his hand and gripped it tightly, pulling him closer to the edge of the bed. "And then, you just wake up like it never happened. I didn't tell the others. I knew pixie dust was probably to blame but it still hurt, Draco. It hurt like hell."

"I didn't realize…" he mumbled. "I'm sorry. I'm not used to having someone there, waiting for me to wake up. There was never anyone—Forgive me?"

She shut her eyes and pulled him towards the bed, spinning them around so she fell atop him, her hands on the collar of his cloak. "Tell me you love me," she growled from that deep, lustful place in their chests they often ventured to.

"I love you," he said and smirked sadly. He still couldn't believe that something as small and insignificant as pixie dust had caused her so much pain, that he didn't even notice it was pain and not anger that had driven her away. "Of course I love you."

She pulled the cloak back and threw it into a corner. He ran his chilly hands through her hair and smiled as bravely as he could. She still wanted him but the lust had gone from his eyes. All he kept thinking was how he couldn't hear her cries, hadn't been able to feel her hands on him trying to wake him. He imagined her on a bed, bleeding, dying, and being unable to wake her. He couldn't even imagine it. Things like that he only saw in his deepest nightmares.

He understood.

She crushed her lips to his. She knew he wasn't completely willing but she didn't care. She ripped his shirt off, not bothering with buttons, and threw it behind her. She slid up and pushed her books off the bed, giving Draco a very direct visual down her flimsy pajama top. She thought it might entice him but nothing. He just continued to stare at her with the same wide, pained eyes.

He slid back up the bed so his feet weren't dangling off the edge. She straddled him, tearing at his belt. "Say it again," she whispered, this time desperate to hear his voice.

"I fucking love you," he answered, watching in horror as she slid his pants down to his ankles and finally off towards the floor. He wanted to tell her to stop but he felt like any denial was a hit to her fragile heart.

He rested, naked under her, his eyes pleading her to stop. His hands reached down to her back, clawing into her, but it only made her go kisses go faster, sloppier down his chest. Just as her lips drew near his cock, he pulled her down atop her and rolled them so he'd be on top, in control.

"Stop it," he whispered sadly. "Don't do this, not like this."

"This is why you came here, right? You wanted me, wanted my body. You made it very clear in our dreams. Just take me already!" she shouted.

He covered her mouth with his hand and brought the sheets up over them. "I would never just take you like that, Hermione. We're not like this. We don't just have meaningless make-up sex, not when you're obviously not over this."

"Draco—" she began but he just covered her mouth again.

"I love you," he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere, understand? Not anymore, not again, not until you get tired of seeing this gorgeous face every day. And I don't care how many times I have to say it or how long it takes for you to get it. I love you, and I'm sorry."

She started to sob and buried her face in his chest. He settled down beside her and wrapped his arms around waist, keeping her warm as she cried. It took her an hour to stop crying and three to fall asleep. He couldn't. He only stood up from the bed to lock the door to her room. He didn't sleep all day and he didn't care.

Then sun made her skin glow an olive shade, her cheeks flush. He watched in awe, feeling the magnetism he'd felt the first time he saw her naked on the base of that shower, bleeding. She needed him, more and more each day, and he was starting to wonder if he had the right to hurt her so. He'd made her dependent on him, made her ache for him every second they were apart.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered as her father started to knock on the door, calling her name. She stirred and caressed his cheek in mid-slumber. He pulled away slowly and slipped on his pants. There was no point in looking for his shirt. It was in shreds and he didn't have his wand, just another stupid thing he did for impulsive, animal love.

He walked up to the door and, without fear, he greeted Mr. Granger with a devilish grin.

-----

_Sorry but Draco is starting to starting to believe he's hazardous to her health, which means that yes, he'll try to slowly separate himself from her. The proposals and all that fun stuff don't come for a bit. First they have to reach the Weasleys'. But, I promise it'll come soon. _

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**Reviews are better than Draco's raunchy dreams. **(And no, he had no idea he could do it.)


	5. Selflessness is for Idiots

**CHAPTER FIVE:** _Selflessness is for Idiots_

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_I know I left it at a weird part. I'm sorry. Also, just so you're not confused, I've given Mr. and Mrs. Granger the first names Marcus and Anna. They don't actually have first names in the books so it could have gotten a little confusing there for a moment. I wanted them to feel about Draco a certain way before meeting him than after. You'll see a little role reversal there. Alright! 'Nuff said! Let the hilarity ensue. _

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Hermione sat beside Draco in the kitchen, facing the stairs. Her father paced before them, still in his royal purple bathrobe and matching fuzzy slippers. "Anna!" he called again. "Get down here!"

Mrs. Granger grumbled her way down the stairs, her hair up in curls and a toothbrush held securely in her right fist. "Where is he?" she growled, rushing down into the kitchen. As soon as she saw Draco – his confident smirk, tidy blond hair, and creamy pale skin – she froze.

Mr. Granger looked from Hermione to Draco to his wife but they all seemed to be caught in their own trains of thought. Hermione thought of ways to kill Draco in his sleep, Draco wondered what else he could do to piss off the parental, and Mrs. Granger thought… well, how much she shouldn't be thinking of the handsome, obviously rich young man sitting shirtless in her kitchen.

"This is the boy you told us about yesterday, I presume?" asked Hermione's father, trying to break the silence so they could return to the topic of Hermione's chastity belt fitting and how many decades she was going to be grounded.

Draco stood up and extended a hand at him and was left in mid-air. The father's rejection didn't slow him down for a second. "Draco Malfoy. Pleased to meet you," he said with his most smug smirk, winking at Mrs. Granger. When he turned towards her, he kissed the back of her hand, without permission, instead of shaking it. She let out a tiny, inaudible whimper. "I'm Hermione's mate."

"MATE?" shouted Mr. Granger. "You have some nerve, son!"

"I don't understand," said Hermione's mother, turning to her daughter for answers in an attempt to ignore the shirtless Draco. "How did he get in without us hearing?"

"I flew in," he answered for Hermione. Despite his carefree, jolly exterior, he wasn't going to allow her to be grilled by her parents when he was standing right there. It wasn't fair. He was trying to get her to understand why they needed to be apart for a while, not kick her like a three-legged puppy in a dark alley. "My broomstick's up in Hermione's room if you'd like proof. You'll have to excuse my bad timing but Hermione didn't know I was coming. Honest."

Mrs. Granger nodded. "Understandably," she said. Hermione and Mr. Granger both narrowed their eyes at her, filled with suspicion and irritation.

"It still doesn't excuse that he was in her bed _half-naked_!" snarled Mr. Granger. "Have you no respect, boy? Then you just walk up to the door and answer it like that?"

Hermione and Mrs. Granger let out a small snicker, which only made Mr. Granger stomp his foot on the hardwood floor. Hermione and Draco both winced at the sound, their sensitive ears most active at times of stress. She reached over and pulled him by the wrist to sit back down. He plopped into the chair and refused to look at her.

She didn't understand. Why had he sabotaged her? Did he think her parents wouldn't mind their daughter's boyfriend fucking her in the next room? Hadn't he neglected to tell Narcissa they had adjoining rooms up until last week for the very same reason? Unless… the possibility clicked in her mind, a remnant of her insecurities. Surely he wasn't trying to break up with her, was he? That was completely illogical since he'd just come all this way to see her, to beg her forgiveness for something he didn't even know he'd done. But then again, when was Draco Malfoy ever logical. It had taken Hermione months to decipher his perverse brain and the sort of logic that drove him. The ideals of a madman, the twisting philosophies…

She closed her eyes and tried to find a moment last night when he didn't appear completely truthful. She was two inches from his face. If his brow had creased insincerely at any moment, she would have noticed. She would have noticed if his arms tensed, if he no longer wanted to be in her arms.

That's when she realized that maybe that was all he wanted. Her arms… and everything attached. She didn't realize the others had continued talking – her father would not cease until he grilled Draco about every detail of his furry alter ego – until the kitchen phone started ringing in the distance. Draco jumped up off the chair, onto his feat with wide eyes.

"What the hell's that?" he asked, looking around for the source of the deafening bells.

Mrs. Granger sighed and, believing every word out of Draco's two perfect rows of teeth, went to make them all some tea. Hermione chuckled, her eyes still avoiding his as she thought he wanted. She was closest to the phone so she stood up slowly and picked up the receiver off the wall.

"Granger residence. Hermione speaking," she said automatically.

She knew Draco's wide eyes were on her, taking in her calm demeanor. As wracked with thought as her mind was, she didn't let it show on her face. He knew exactly how she was feeling – doubtful, remorseful, eerily patient – and it scared him how at home she looked in that tiny kitchen, enough so to erase all those feelings from her face. He felt like maybe he didn't know her at all. He knew Hogwarts Hermione rather intimately, every nook and cranny, but not Muggle Hermione. He wondered if he had just denied himself that side of her because of his past prejudices and felt a little sick all of a sudden, quite visible to Mr. Granger who continued to glare daggers into Draco's back. Muggle Hermione was so… _beautiful_.

"Ginny, calm down! CALM DOWN!" she shouted into the phone all of a sudden. Draco was far enough away that the exact words Ginny seemed to ramble on the other line just sounded like one long slur. "Good! Now, in complete sentences, I want you to tell me everything again. And for the thousandth time, you don't have to yell. You can speak normally."

Draco took three slow steps towards her, focused on her body language for answers, his fists clenched at his sides.

Ginny took a deep breath and said, "'Mione, Pansy is here and she's furious at you. Dad said this would quicker than an owl. You need to get down here immediately."

"What?" laughed Hermione. "That's ridiculous. Why would she go _there_?"

Draco took another step closer, his curiosity peaking. He sat up on the counter and leaned into the receiver. Hermione positioned herself against his legs so the phone was between them.

"Well, Malfoy was with his mum at Phoenix headquarters and you were lost in Muggle land. Where else was there? It's not like we're not in the phonebook, you know."

Hermione shook her head. She could hear screaming in the background, an obvious brawl and tenuous laughter throughout the house. "I still don't understand. Why is she angry?"

Ginny sighed and whispered, hoping the melee behind her didn't hear the worry in her voice. "Hermione, she says you lied to her. She got this letter, see… a letter from her brother."

Hermione dropped the receiver. Draco caught it immediately and pressed it to his ear as Hermione had done. "Ginny?" he said calmly. "It's Malfoy. Can you please pass this thing to Pansy?"

A few shuffles and calling of names later, Pansy's distraught voice came on the line. They didn't have to have enhanced werewolf hearing to know she'd been crying hysterically, but Ron's gentle urgings in the background seemed to capture Draco's attention more. Hermione seemed oblivious of it still. Of course Pansy would go to the Weasleys', just like he'd come to the Grangers'. It was only natural to go seeking warmth after one's heart had felt the lonely cold.

"Draco! Hello? Hello?" Pansy said all at once. "Ginny, how does this ruddy thing work? I feel ridiculous!"

Draco chuckled softly. "I'm here, Parkinson. What's the deal?

"She lied to me! I want to know why! Where is he? I _need_ to know!" she screeched, her voice hoarse.

"You don't even know if the letter is real yet, Pansy. Look, we'll head over as soon as we can. Just hang out there and try not to bring down the place. I've got some nice memories in Percy's room," he said, shooting Hermione a smirk. She missed it as she looked down at her hand and the way it'd rested on his knee, always amazed by the sort of subconscious comfort she had developed with this boy in a matter of months compared to the amicable, yet physically awkward comfort she'd developed with the boys over the past six years.

Her father was giving him the death glare again, not at all amused by their proximity. Mrs. Granger was humming to herself as she set the kettle to the stove. "Is something the matter, dear?" she asked sweetly. Hermione got the hint that her mother only objected to Draco and their shared affliction on principle. Having met him and realized he wasn't a 10-feet-tall monster trying to steal her daughter's virtue, she let it go. Hermione only wished her father would because he wouldn't have the time he'd need to get to know Draco better, to accept him.

"I'm sorry, Mum and Dad, but we have to go."

"Go?" her father echoed lamely. She'd had to go several times before, on a whim. They were used to it and knew there was no way to stop her. "Is it Harry and the others?"

She nodded. "I really am sorry you all can't talk more but it looks like this is serious."

Draco looked from Hermione to her parents and back again, studying their expressions. The same worrisome lines were there, the same sad smile when they had to give up something they loved. Sacrifice. It was universal, but so present in these three. He thought of his own father, of all the words that tore at him and the disappointment in his actions. For a moment, just a moment, Draco wished he could be with these people longer, and it made him a little sicker. He tried to find the difference, some sort of symbol on their faces that marked them as monsters but he only found himself staring at his Dark Mark. They, these Muggles, were never the monster. He was. And he didn't belong with them. What's worse, he made it so Hermione could never belong with them either. The guilt gathered in his throat and he gulped, ignoring the others' goodbyes completely until Hermione finally turned to him.

"You need to owl your mother," she said sweetly, resting her hand on his knee again. He hunched his shoulders, realizing how worried out of her skull she must be. "She's the one that needs to answer a few things. I never saw Pansy's brother on _her_ word."

He nodded and jumped off the kitchen counter. Hermione took his hand and led him upstairs. He gave her parents a lame wave and a weary smirk, honestly sad to say goodbye. He wanted to bask in their... innocence? Was that the word?

Before opening the door to her bedroom, Hermione paused and turned to him, their eyes meeting for the first time since last night. "Are we okay?" she whispered, glancing quickly to the stairs to make sure he knew they were to be quiet for her parents' sake. He gulped silently but didn't answer. "I mean it. Are we okay?"

He smiled slightly, falsely, and took a step closer. He hovered over her for a second, considering what his body had already decided for him, and bent down to kiss her forehead. "I love you," he said, caressing her cheek with his free hand. His lips lingered over her forehead so she didn't have to see his eyes as they wandered wildly about the hallway.

"That wasn't my question," she growled back, pushing away. She knew him better than that. She knew something was wrong.

"What do you want me to say?" It was one of those cookie-cutter answers, something meaningless he felt he had to say if only to stall. He knew there was nothing he could hide from her.

It was still too hard to imagine a world without him and that gave her some comfort. Her voice lowered again and her momentary anger dissipated quickly at his tone. She knew whatever was wrong with him, it was born from doubt.

"Don't be selfless," she said, causing him to straighten. "Don't start now, because I don't think I could handle it."

He parted his lips, about to reply, when she turned towards the bedroom door and turned the knob, finally. He slipped on his shirt and trainers, his back to her. She dressed in jeans and a plain, white t-shirt, almost in a blur. When he finished buttoning his shirt and turned back to her, she was ready and waiting by the window, his broom in her hands. She handed it to him but he shook his head and jumped onto the window ledge.

"Come on," he said, waving her over. "You're taking us."

She laughed, obvious fear in her voice. He wasn't kidding. "Draco, you're going to get us killed."

He smirked and jumped off onto the nearest tree branch. "You keep saying and that and yet, we're still breathing."

"Yes, because I keep having to save your sorry ass," she mumbled, taking his hand and sitting on the window ledge herself. Her legs dangled off to the ground far below.

"My ass is anything but sorry, thank you very much. I have the bite marks to prove how much you love it. Now, jump off and stop insulting my… body parts."

She blushed because she knew this was true but she refused to smile, not until he talked to her. She shook her head, refusing to move. Her hands clung to the window's edge until her knuckles turned white. "The damn broom is not going to listen to me, Draco. You had to get it off the ground last time."

He sighed and climbed onto the next branch above him. "Are you coming?" he called below. She rolled her eyes and carefully climbed off the ledge onto the branch. He was waiting on the roof, his arm stretched out to help her up. She squealed as her foot slipped on the gutters. He called for his broom and handed it to her with a wide grin.

"You asshole," she grumbled and mounted it. He followed and gripped her hips tightly. It took a minute but she got the broom off the roof. She squealed, fear and excitement mixing in her speeding heart.

He kissed the length of her neck but she just shook him off. "Don't even think about it, Mister! We're not in the Quidditch field anymore. We'll be flying over a city in bright daylight."

He scoffed. "It's six. Nobody's awake, 'Mione. Relax."

She shook her head and slapped his knee. "Concentrate! We're not flying over the city. We're going to the train station and that's final. I refuse to fall prey to your idiotic flights of fancy."

He sighed and wrapped his arms around her waist nonetheless. She didn't complain because it made her feel like she wasn't just flying a bloody stick. "You love my idiotic flights of fancy."

"Stop saying that!" she shouted again. She was rambling on, her voice an octave higher. He knew she was freaking out but it was even funnier when he wasn't high. "I do not! Contrary to what goes on in that thick skull of yours, I do not find every ridiculous notion out of your mouth entertaining!"

He raised his arms in the air in surrender, causing them to waver in the air. She screamed, causing her parents to go running up the stairs below. They looked out the open window but didn't see them lingering over the roof. They hadn't moved an inch.

In a resolved, tired voice, she whispered, "Draco, I promise I'll partake in your damn flying lessons as soon as we get to the Weasleys' but not now. Just take us. Please! We're in a hurry!"

He could tell she was getting scared and so, obliged. He set them back down onto the roof, careful not to keep their footsteps as silent as possible so her parents wouldn't freak. He slid her down on the broom and took first seat in the front. He leaned forward, a dangerous sign, and sped off towards the horizon.

-----

They landed in the alley nearest the train station and it took three tries to pry Hermione's hands off the broom handle, her eyes wide and her hair in complete disarray. Even as wind-blown as it was now, it was still twice as neat as it'd been before Narcissa's mandatory makeover last October. He laughed as he led her down the platform, hand in hand. Hermione noticed he was speeding, dragging her along, so they wouldn't be recognized. It seemed silly since his hair and pointed features were so obvious, even from far away. He'd been in the papers a lot more lately ever since his father went to jail and especially since he was revealed to be a werewolf. It just seemed pointless to race through.

"The Burrow's in Devon, right?" he asked, eyeing the chart with the train schedules. "We're on the far West side of London so we'll have to take the 8:00am train and get off before it reaches Cornwall."

She nodded, not really paying attention. He sat them down on a bench in the darkest, faraway corner he could find while they waited. It was only an hour's wait but it was terribly awkward. Their hands grew sweaty and Draco kept clearing his throat in hopes that sound might jolt her awake. Her eyes were dropping but her posture did not hint to sleep deprivation. She just seemed pensive, which was very dangerous in Hermione's case.

"The train's here," she finally said and Draco jumped off the seat from fright. It was strange hearing her voice again after all the tension. It might have been an hour in the real world but it felt like an eternity in his mind. It didn't matter in the long scheme, not to Draco and not as long as she kept her hand in his. They mounted the train and that was another hour in hell.

Ginny was waiting for them on the platform, twiddling with some toy Fred and George had given her to pass the time. Her eyes looked bloodshot and her hair, despite having cut it even shorter, was horribly unkempt. As soon as she saw them, she threw the toy into the nearest bin and ran to hug Hermione.

"Thank God you're here!" she squeaked, nearly knocking Hermione back onto the filthy platform.

"How'd you know—"

"We figured you'd grab the train since floos aren't safe."

Draco sneered at the floor. "Nothing's safe. You shouldn't have assumed."

They ignored him completely and hurried off. They arrived at the Burrow before noon and had become acclimated with the whole story thanks to Gin. Apparently, she'd been stuck in the middle of a mess as the Weasley boys kept teasing Pansy and threatening to set her hair on fire if she didn't tell them how she knew how to bypass the security measures around the grounds. They had no way of knowing she was an ally and started attacking as soon as she walked in.

"Is she tied up?" Draco asked. "Because that's not going to hold her down. Actually, she might like it."

The girls had grimaced. Now, standing before the entrance to the kitchen, it was obvious why Ginny looked so harried. The furniture was covered in scorch marks and thrown about, denting the walls in places. Chairs lay broken near the sink and what appeared to be blood but turned out to be tomato sauce was splattered onto the Weasley danger clock.

"Dear Lord," whispered Hermione. "We've walked into World War III."

Ginny ran up the stairs, loudly announcing their arrival, as Draco and Hermione waited downstairs. Mr. Weasley popped in and came to shake Draco's hand and hug Hermione. "Thank God you're here," he hissed.

"Yea, we get that a lot," joked Draco. "Where's my favorite little pest?"

The tiniest pinprick of jealousy struck Hermione's heart at the word "favorite" describing Pansy in any way. She narrowed her eyes at Draco on the way up the stairs and he got the hint. He shot her a small smile in return, reassuring her that she would always be his favorite.

Mr. Weasley opened the door to Ron's room, which instantly made Hermione suspicious. Why would she be put up in Ron's room if they were constantly at each other's throat? Unless she really was tied up and being tortured but Hermione couldn't imagine a Weasley doing that, except maybe Percy if he ever decided to sit you down and tell you about his duties at the Ministry. That could be considered torture to some, herself included.

But no. When they opened the door, Pansy and Ron sat side by side on his bed. His sad eyes were fixed on the side of her puffy, thin face as she reread the letter in her lap for the hundredth time. They sat close, perhaps too close for enemies, their shoulders touching. Despite everything that seemed to have happened in the kitchen and the chaos that she had brought upon the Burrow, the orange-clad room was filled by a wave of sadness as though a Dementor had just left.

"Pansy—" Hermione began but found herself speechless, even piteous.

"We'll figure out what this is about, Pans, and we'll find him if we need to," finished Draco, his smirk gone. Despite her annoying nature, Draco understood her in that moment, knew that he could not comfort his friend as needed to be comforted. The only one who could was sitting so close yet so helpless. Draco knew that look on Ron's face from the weeks he'd worn it as he and Hermione shared hidden glances across the classroom. He wished never to go back to that life of secrecy.

"I know where he is," whispered Pansy, her voice hoarse from crying. "It's in his note."

"What? Where?"

She sighed and handed Hermione the dirty, crumbled piece of paper. She read it once and, with shaking fingers, passed it to Draco. Before he could read it, she whispered with unprecedented worry in her voice, "He's in Seneca."

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_Ha. Hope you guys didn't forget that little detail from LLDM. Narcissa has a LOT of explaining to do._

_Purple bathrobe was a quiet shout-out to Hawkeye from MASH, present in the Quarter Moon Gamble's first chapter as well. Also, there was a continuity error last chapter that apparently nobody pointed out and even I didn't notice till I read it back. Hermione was reading by wand light when Draco jumped in through her window. As we know, she lost her wand at Malfoy Manor in LLDM. She _will_ be getting it back though. Let's just say she used a flashlight for now until I remember to go back and fix it. _

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**Reviews are better than secret affairs with certain moronic yet strangely adorable redheads. **


	6. The Biteless Wonders

**CHAPTER SIX:** _The Biteless Wonders_

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_I've been made aware that my personal author's note – though supposed to be a joke (hence the maple syrup) – have become just plain annoying. I didn't realize about the email alerts. I would never have stopped updating if you guys didn't review. I just hope you enjoy the chapters to come and, from now on, my author's notes will be reserved for must-knows about the story, to answer questions from anonymous reviews, and list any references used. If you still don't want to receive the email alerts, just remove me from your author and/or story alert list. No harm, no foul. _

_To make up for it, I'm posting all three chapters right now, as you may have noticed. Enjoy._

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"What the hell is Seneca?" asked Draco.

Hermione shrugged, her thumbs deep in her jeans pockets. "It was in your mother's notes, Draco. Surely _she_ knows. She was the one who told me James was dead in the first place."

"She what?" growled Pansy. Ron's hand surreptitiously slid over hers on her lap but she was on her feet before he could give it a proper squeeze. "I knew a Slytherin had to be behind this. You Gryffindors don't have the balls."

"I thought they were supposed to be the brave ones," corrected Draco.

Pansy scoffed, pacing before Ron. "They're all bark, no bite," she snarled and shot Ron a nod. Draco squelched a very loud "Ha!" He of course knew she meant a literal bite. Hermione seemed to guess it too because she put on that sour-lemon face Draco had learned of early in their courting whenever he made a raunchy joke at his own expense.

A silence fell over the room and Ron, upon clearing his throat, continued, "So… what do we do? Just wait for Narcissa to pay us a visit? It's not like we can take Pansy to her."

"She doesn't need to be present to tell us. Fireplaces are safe to talk through, right? Sirius talked to Harry through one back at Hogwarts," suggested Hermione, hoping to blend into the background behind Draco. She didn't like having people furious at her, even if it wasn't her fault. The insecure little wolf girl in the back of her mind still cried when someone called her a MudBlood or teased her about her hair. All that had gone away since Draco but it seemed to be coming back to life now that Pansy kept nudging deeper and deeper into their lives.

Draco sighed. "I'll go call her but she usually doesn't get up till after noon."

"Forget it," said Pansy, stopping her tiresome pacing. "I don't need your help. I can find out for myself. Just point me to the nearest floo into Knockturn."

Draco laughed, causing Hermione to jump. She didn't find it at all funny. "I'm sorry but you're our hostage. As long as you're in here, you'll do as we tell you and that includes staying away from fucking Death Eaters! You will _not_ give away our position and you will _not_ get yourself killed out of sheer stupidity."

"What are you talking about?" she snarled.

He threw his arms in the air out of frustration. "Blaise is gone, Pansy! You're not under his protection anymore. It doesn't matter if no one has seen us together, which I doubt. You're not a crony. You. Are. On. Your. Own."

"No, she's not," said Ron softly, twitching at the mention of Blaise. Nobody paid him any attention.

"I am your last ally, Parkinson, the last one you can trust. And, as sad as it is, you are going to have to trust The Biteless Wonders as well if you want this figured out."

She crossed her arms, shook her head, and stormed past him towards the stairs. "Where is she going?" asked Ron. "Didn't you just tell her to stay here? Doesn't she listen to you?"

Draco laughed again, sadder than before. "She'll come back… eventually."

"She's being ridiculous! We can just ask Narcissa and get all this fixed. I'm sure the note is probably a forgery."

"It's authentic," said Draco, massaging his brow. "But Mother's not going to say anything and we both know it. She hasn't told a soul about what happened to her back in that castle and—"

"I bet she told Moody," joked Ron absentmindedly. He knew he was poking a soft spot.

"Moody?" echoed Draco. "I think the old coot has a thing for her actually. As if she were that—that—."

Ron shook his head, amazed. How could Draco figure out his and Pansy's secret trysts down to the smallest detail but not his own mother's? Was he that selectively dense? Even Hermione found it mildly funny but her lips didn't show it. Her mind was still back in her room the night before.

"Call up Narcissa anyway. Tell her what we know," she instructed, her face showing no emotion as she stared at Ron in order to avoid Draco's probing eyes. "Go on. Get."

Draco didn't question her look, merely interpreted as a not-so-subtle way of saying she wanted to speak to Ron alone. He nodded and obliged, shutting the door behind him. He didn't like it but when she got the sour-lemon look followed by the do-it-or-I'll-castrate-you look, he damn well did what she said.

"How long?" she asked, sure that Draco was out of hearing range.

Ron cleared his throat and looked down at his bare feet, slightly ashamed but feeling strangely rebellious. "How long what?"

"How long have you been talking to her?"

"To Pansy?"

"She didn't just figure out where you lived. You told her."

"Ginny could have told her."

"Ginny wasn't holding her hand the way you just did!" she finally shouted, raking both hands through her hair. "I don't like it, Ron! I don't like you shagging her. You just can't trust her."

He stared at her, bug-eyed, before bursting into laughter. "Jealous?"

"Pansy's not my type, sorry," she sneered. He laughed harder, standing slowly. She was genuinely angry and he knew it had nothing to do with jealousy.

"You are one giant hypocrite, Hermione. Do you realize that?" he said with a heavy sigh. He didn't want to be arguing with her over this. In his eyes, she had no right.

Hermione raised an arm and before her brain could catch up to her hand, she slapped him. He let out a loud howl and caressed his cheek. She realized her strength and quickly helped him to the bed. She cursed softly and looked around for something resembling a first aid kit or a wand but she'd rather poke a bear than try Ron's broken old thing.

"I'm sorry," she said with a sigh, sitting uselessly beside him. She'd broken the skin and he'd surely have a bruise there but the cut from the impact of her hand over his left cheekbone was thin and didn't really bleed. She thanked God. She couldn't handle the smell of blood, she'd noticed. Strangely enough, it didn't seem to rouse any of the sensations she'd felt before. There was no blood lust. There was no aching for more. If anything, she felt remorse, and she began to wonder if it hadn't been her blood lust at all last week. "I didn't mean to hurt you, I promise."

"I know," he replied, his voice unaffected.

"I'm not being hypocritical. Pansy never turned onto our side, Ron. Draco gave us information, showed us how to fight the others, long before he and I ever got together. It's not the same."

He shook his head, holding his cheek and the possible concussion back. "It is, 'Mione. Sometimes, you just have to trust someone even when nobody else will. I've gotten to know her. She didn't come looking for me and I certainly didn't go looking for her. We found each other because we were both left behind. You and Draco went away into your happy little bubble and left us there, alone. Then Harry got with Gin and Blaise left the school. We had no one! You have no one to blame but yourselves. Besides… she'll prove herself. I know it."

The judgment died away from her tone. She didn't want to be angry at him any longer, not after so many years together, but she had to make her feelings known. "It's not the same, Ron. She's not tied to you the way Draco is to me. You can't see into her head the way I see into his. I didn't have blind faith. I knew. She's just human, Ron, and humans make mistakes."

"And monsters can't?" he answered with strong finality. He stood up, unable to stay in the same room as her a moment longer. He left without a second thought or consideration to the true worries brewing in Hermione's brain. Above the threat to their lives, she frantically worried about Ron's heart and all the little pieces she'd have to sew back together after Pansy got through with him.

-----

"What do you mean she's not home?" Draco squeaked, spitting embers all over the carpet back at Grimmauld. Tonks stomped them out before shooting him a very cross look. "What are you even doing there? Where's Moody?"

Tonks' face changed in the fireplace, the way it always did when Draco talked of Alastor in front of her. Moody had been, more or less, her mentor for the last few years. Though they rarely, if ever, got along, she felt a strong connection to him. She longed to protect him, especially now that he'd opened his heart for the first time in decades. He wasn't thinking straight and Draco was just stabbing blindly at a sore spot.

"Leave him alone, okay?" she whispered, her eyebrows knitted together as though pleading. "I don't want to have to choose between my cousin and my friend but if I have to, he'll win, Draco."

Draco opened his eyes wide. "What do you mean? Why's he so special. I don't mess with him anymore than I mess with anyone else."

"Yes you do," said Hermione behind him, leaning sitting on the arm of the living room sofa. "It's okay, Tonks. Please tell Narcissa we'll be passing by the house in a few days for Christmas dinner and that we expect an answer. Pansy's probably gone off to find them on her own so we shouldn't worry about her. She'll come to us when she's ready. Do you both understand?"

Tonks and Draco nodded and the fireplace died out again.

"Good. Now, we haven't eaten since yesterday so let's get a move on then."

Hermione put both hands on her waist like a worried mother and waved Draco over with a seductive smile. He watched her walk off towards the kitchen, returning the smile. He was unbelievably confused. This wasn't her usual attitude. She was like a yo-yo all of a sudden. She wanted him. She was furious at him. She wanted him. She was furious at him. He was starting to wonder if he'd broken her with the pixie dust stunt but he had other doubts. He was considering the animal attacks and made a note to himself to check on Colin later, maybe get him a nice Christmas present. By looks of the plastic pieces scattered across that Hogwarts hallway last week, he was going to need a new camera.

As he followed her into the tiny, messy kitchen, he pondered Christmas for the hundredth time and what he was going to get Hermione. Rather than wrack his brain with it, he took the final remaining chair, rested his cheek on his fist and stared at her as she prepared them something to eat.

"Hey, 'Mione?" he asked bluntly. "What do you want for Christmas?"

She laughed and pulled last night's chicken from the fridge. "I don't want for anything, Draco," she said with a faraway smirk. She seemed almost as relaxed as back at her house and he was starting to wonder if she was just relaxed in the _kitchen_. Did she… like to cook? He'd never seen her do it before, not when she had her wand. There was no need to cook at Hogwarts anyway.

"I know you don't need anything which is what makes it so hard to shop for you."

She shrugged. "Sorry?"

He smirked and propped up his feet on the table. "No, don't be sorry. But I still want to get you something, even if it's frivolous. What's your favorite flower?"

She laughed louder, cutting into the chicken and spreading it out onto a skillet to warm. "I don't know. I've never been given flowers. Roses are pretty, I suppose."

"How generic."

"Lilies? Chrysanthemums?"

He thought about it but none of those flowers screamed Hermione to him. "No, forget it. Flowers aren't a first Christmas kind of thing anyway."

She shook her head in disbelief. "You know, you're not supposed to tell the person you're getting a gift for that you're getting a gift for them. You're especially not supposed to ask them what they want. You're just supposed to know."

"Oh as if you know what to get me."

"I've had your gift for days, sweetheart," she replied, shooting him a mixed look over her shoulder. "I have _everyone's_ gifts all picked out, wrapped, and parked somewhere extremely secret so don't get any ideas."

He got tired of the uncomfortable wooden chairs and went to stand just behind her, his chin on her shoulder. She shivered, trying to shake him off. His pointy chin was digging into her bones. Still, he hovered about her as she took out cornstarch, soy sauce, ginger, brown sugar, and some chicken broth.

"What the hell are you making?" he asked, observing her hands intently. Why would he ever need to cook, especially with elves around? It was just too easy to snap his fingers or wave his wand or order in. "You don't have to. I'm sure I can just—"

"Shush. It calms me. Back home, during the summers when Harry would be at the Dursleys' and I'd stay up to watch the news, I'd go to the kitchen and cook to pass the time. I swear, I kept waiting for a picture of him dead in an alley somewhere to pop up all over the papers. So, shut up and let me cook. And I'm making my special sauce anyway, which you'll thank me for later. Would you mind shredding up that chicken breast into bits?"

He was right. She _liked_ to cook. How very Muggle of her. Still, he was enjoying the peaceful smile and the humming. Oh how he loved the humming, the gentle sway of her hips in accordance to the song. He didn't recognize the melody but he found himself humming along, tearing into the chicken with his bare hands. She set the mixture into a saucepan and set it to the stove, waiting for it to thicken before adding the chicken.

"Get me some green beans or peas from the pantry, would you please?"

"Why would they be in the pantry?"

"They're tinned."

He walked over to the pantry and stood there, staring blankly. "What do you mean? They're in tin _cans_?"

(See my LiveJournal for the full recipe.)

She sighed and went to get them herself, handing him the wooden spoon and instructing him to keep stirring. She was right. It was immensely relaxing. She came up behind him, snapped off the lid to one of the drained cans of green beans, and poured it into the sauce. He got the chicken and poured it in after her. She shot him a small smirk for figuring it out beforehand.

"I figured you'd be good at this," she said as she admired his pensive face and constant stirring. He lowered the heat instinctively and continued to stir. Her eyes scanned his back, his firm shoulders and followed her spine to his waist. She fought not to wrap her arms around that waist, rest her cheek against his the vast expanses of delicious cold skin, pure skin…

"I don't care what Snape says. Cooking is so the same as Potions and he is definitely the home ec teacher. I've seen him in a polka-dotted apron so—"

Before he could finish his silly ranting, she cupped his face in her hands and brought his lips down upon hers. She squealed as the stirring spoon slapped her in the stomach, covering her in brown sauce. He looked down and hurried to the sink for a wet washcloth to wipe it off. She grabbed the washcloth from his hands, shook her head, and said, "Don't worry about it."

"You caught me by surprise."

"I know. It was my fault. I was just trying to shut you up."

He smirked and bent down to kiss her quickly. "Yea, I know. I'm just happy to see you smiling again, and talking to me."

She took the food off the stove and sighed, sitting up on the counter to better clean off the mess on her shirt. Of course she would be wearing a white shirt when Draco finally decided to be clumsy. He took some plates from the rack near the sink and set them out on the table. They could hear Mrs. Weasley shouting at Ron and Harry upstairs over something trivial like misplaced socks and Draco got that feeling of domesticity yet again.

The more time he and Hermione spent together outside of Hogwarts, the more he imagined them in a house of their own. He knew it was a strange thing to consider after only four months but they were werewolves, the only two of their kind not slaves to Voldemort. They were alike in their differences and imperfectly in tune with the other's imperfection. And, the idea of her moving on and finding someone else was threatening to tear his heart the way he tore up that chicken.

"Draco, you knew about Pansy and Ron, didn't you?" she whispered all of a sudden, going to sit at the table he'd set. He nodded and looked apologetic but she didn't lift her eyes off the food as she swirled it around. Draco dug into it quick, not realizing he'd been starving and had probably gone two days without eating. It was too easy when his mind was constantly on Hermione. "It's okay. I take it your silence means you approve."

He shrugged and took an even larger bite. "Whatever. Weasley's a big boy. I think he can handle her. I didn't use to think so but they've been at it for a month and he still hasn't let her steal claws into his pants. Dare I say it… he's even worse than you were."

She choked on a bite of chicken and reached for her glass of water. "How do you know they haven't—"

"Slept together? They just haven't."

"Does Pansy talk to you about it?"

He shook his head and poured himself more chicken. "Nope. He still has that I-haven't-gotten-any-'cause-I'm- secretly-a-pious,-moral-asshole look. Damn, this chicken is amazing by the way. Like… fucking amazing. Like, fucking _amazing_."

"Why thank you, honey," she said proudly. It was rare she left Draco speechless, that is, while fully dressed.

She scoffed at the sight of him attacking that place, smiling despite herself. She wasn't new to the domestic feeling but it warmed her heart to have him compliment her cooking, even to be able to cook for him. That look of pleasure on his face just seemed to scream sex to her. She knew this was going to be a problem. She had to think straight. She had to think about Pansy and James and Narcissa. Most of all, she had to worry. That was her job and she'd been brilliant at it so far but Draco's presence was like having her own personal Xanax follow her around. A Xanax with very delectable lips…

_Snap out of it, Hermione!_ she told herself. _You're still angry at him for being a douche! Oh when isn't he a douche? What's with the libido all of a sudden? Is it him?_

"You don't approve of them, do you?" he asked after a few minutes of loud chewing and moaning, snapping her out of her lewd thoughts. He pushed his plate aside and watched her finish her food, in no hurry whatsoever. He reached over and smoothed her hair back behind her ear lovingly.

"I can't trust her like you can, Draco," she admitted. She pushed her plate aside as he'd done and whispered, ashamed, "Do you think I'm a hypocrite?"

"For what? Not trusting Pansy? I think you'd be an idiot to. Hell, _I_ don't trust her fully and there's not a part of that girl I haven't seen."

She rested her hands in her lap and stared down at the sauce stain, fumbling with her fingers. "Ron said the same thing to me when _we_ first—"

"Oh," he breathed, realizing what she meant. "Well… yea. I'll be honest. It's kind of a shitty thing to say after all we went through."

She shot him a cross look but didn't deny it. She knew it was going to be hard but she had to accept them and pray it didn't last long. She and Draco got up at the same time and carried their plates to the sink, which had been bewitched to wash them automatically. They didn't go upstairs though. They didn't go looking for other people. They lingered in that moment, in the kitchen, where they could still dream they had a normal relationship. It was nice knowing they still had things to learn about each other, that secrets couldn't tear them apart anymore. Secrets were an adventure now, a fight to discover every detail about each other as though it might bring them a little bit closer. It would be a short-lived adventure, they dreaded, but it was best not to dwell.

They didn't talk but it was nice to linger on those thoughts. And, it was in that moment of eerie clarity that Draco realized what he would get Hermione for Christmas.

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	7. The Jealousy Game

**CHAPTER SEVEN:** _The Jealousy Game_

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Ron came down a few hours later and nodded towards the backyard, gesturing at Draco to move. "We're flying. You up?"

Draco's eyes widened, readying himself for the worst. "Flying? Are we going somewhere?"

"No idiot," answered Harry, coming down in his gear. "We're playing Quidditch. The twins aren't here and we wanted to go two on two."

Draco looked to Hermione as though asking for permission. She smiled and gave him a quick nod, letting free his hand on the table. "Have fun," she said and kissed him on the cheek. "See if you can whack some garden gnomes around for Mrs. Weasley while you're out there."

He had no idea what she was talking about but got up and was halfway to the back door when he realized she wasn't coming. He turned around and asked, "You're not going to watch?"

She shook her head with weary eyes like it was the dead of night instead of noon. "I think I'm going to take a nap," she said and Draco eyed her curiously. How could she be tired? He'd watched her sleep all night. Unless… had it been a show? Had she been as awake as he? Impossible. He'd heard her heart, steady as the clock on the wall. She hadn't moved. If anybody needed a nap, it was him.

His eyes narrowed. "I can stay in, you know. We can grab a nap together on the couch or something," he offered lamely. He was dying to take Potter on but he did not want to tempt the bear. Even without the giant hair, it was still too easy to imagine Hermione clawing his eyes out.

"Don't be silly. Go ahead," she said, standing slowly. Oh yea. She was definitely tired of something and he got the hint it was him. She was trying to do something, probably read, and didn't want him around. That was different because she liked resting her head on his lap when she read back at Hogwarts. Then, he reminded himself yet again, this wasn't Hogwarts.

This was especially evident when Ginny Weasley came flying down the stairs in a Chudley Cannons jersey, presumably her brother's. "Stop blocking the door!" she shouted and Hermione turned to watch with a devious smile as though anticipating a great battle. He imagined himself in the center of a coliseum, his leather miniskirt being ogled by the thousands, and shuddered.

"Little Weasley's playing? Are you serious?" he screeched.

"She's the fourth, idiot. Who taught you to count?" replied Harry, about to come to her defense.

She set down her broom and stood, her hand on her hip. This told Harry she could take care of herself and Draco to shut the fuck up all in one. With six brothers, she had become adept at silent, fear-inspiring gestures, mainly from years of watching her own mother rally the troops.

"Malfoy, I am not going to argue with you too. I am perfectly capable of—"

He put a hand up to stop her. "Oh I know you're perfectly capable, hon. I've seen you practice. But, I am NOT playing against you."

She let her hand fall from her hip. "What do you mean? Why?"

"I'm a Malfoy, love. I don't like to lose," he leaned in to whisper before walking off towards the shed with all their brooms. Ginny followed, mirroring his smirk, and shrugged at Harry and Ron who looked slightly terrified.

"We are in serious trouble, aren't we?" Ron hissed to Harry, who nodded furtively.

-----

Hermione brought her chair over to the window to watch though she knew Draco couldn't see her from that angle. She didn't want him to catch her reading more werewolf mating books. He'd given her hell about them last time he caught her reading Binny Mortimer's _Guide to Please Your Werewolf_. Ginny had gotten it for her as a joke but, well, Draco hadn't exactly been complaining until he found it hidden under her pillow.

Now, she had moved on to a slightly more academic source, Dewey Dollop's _Assimilation of Werewolves into the 20__th__ Century_. It was a bit outdated since they were about to enter the 21st century but some stuff still made sense, unlike Margaret Dillinether's _How Not to Get Mauled while Shagging a Vampire, Werewolf, & Other Nocturnal Creature _or its more popular sequel, _How to Get Mauled in All the Right Places. _

Hermione crossed her legs comfortably, turned to page 288 where she'd left off, and continued reading:

_The male werewolf will suffer many bouts of insecurity after mating. He may take up speed-based, often reckless sports to further prove his masculinity and independence and wear tighter clothes during the daytime to attract the female, even suggest mating. He may attempt to make the female jealous by doing personal (even sexual) favors to other, more attractive women. The female must then retaliate in order to protect the other women from her mate's desire to spread the werewolf curse to others, thus beginning a sort of mating dance._

Hermione groaned and rubbed at her weary eyes. "Great… my 17-year-old boyfriend is going through a midlife crisis," she whispered to herself. Mr. Weasley apparated into the kitchen and shot her a quick look, having obviously heard, before rushing upstairs shouting for his wife.

Hermione shut her book and used her sensitive ears to listen in above.

"Narcissa's talking with Snape," whispered Mr. Weasley to his wife. He shut the door behind him but that didn't deter her hearing. She moved a little bit closer, sitting at the base of the stairs with her book in her lap.

"Wait, why isn't she taking care of her son? If James is alive, you know he's going to come after Draco," Molly replied. Hermione covered her mouth to keep from gasping.

"She knows Draco's safe with us. She's not going to pull him away from everything that boy's worked to build, Arthur. Just imagine if this was Ronald or Bill or—"

"I get it!" shouted Mrs. Weasley, obviously pacing around the master bedroom. "Still, how can Dumbledore not tell that poor boy? What's he going to do when he learns about his father?"

"Dumbledore and I have been careful with his owls. None of the kids have heard the news."

"Good," she replied quickly. "Let's just hope it stays that way."

Mrs. Weasley made her way down the stairs and Hermione quickly returned to her spot by the window, pretending to hum and read to herself. She didn't lift her eyes off her book, pretending to be deep in thought. "Have you eaten, dear?" the woman asked her.

Hermione finally lifted her head from her book, pretending not to have heard her. "Pardon?"

"Have you eaten?"

"Oh yes, ma'am," she answered, expertly hiding her intrusion. "I made myself and Draco something an hour ago. We'll be good till dinner. I hope you don't mind that I borrowed your kitchen."

Mrs. Weasley waved dismissively. "Mi casa es su casa."

Hermione faked a smile and went back to her book though the words seemed to meld together into one giant black line. Her mind was entirely on her what she'd just overheard and she was never more thankful that Draco was out of earshot. The instinct to protect him told her to keep it to herself but the lovers' instinct told her to share it and get it off her chest before it bore a hole. Alas, neither was an option. She couldn't tell anyone until she found out the truth.

She waited for Mrs. Weasley to go off to clean something before sneaking into Ginny's room and stealing a piece of parchment and some ink. Very quickly, she scrawled, _I know about Seneca. Tell me everything or I'll go to Draco._

She handed it to Pig with very clear instructions to only give it to Dumbledore. She knew owls weren't safe but her location would be safe thanks to the Ministry's measures on the Burrow. If anyone read it, they could get nothing out of it they didn't already know.

"Godspeed," she whispered and let Pig free on the other side of the house, farthest from where Draco played.

She rushed downstairs, desperate to keep appearances, just as Mr. Weasley set off again on whatever fact-finding mission he'd been sent to other the last week. She went back to her window quietly and stared off at the glorious gray sky and the little dark shadows that zoomed through the air so effortlessly.

After an hour, the four grew tired of a one-sided game and landed. By then, Hermione had the largest, reddest eyes Draco had seen since she thought he'd gotten seriously injured after the fight at Malfoy Manor. He didn't understand it but he went along when she ran to hug him, nearly throwing him back onto the floor. The others noticed her changed expression but didn't say anything, opting to leave them alone once more.

"Hey you," he whispered into her ear as he smoothed his hands over her back as though she were a crying child. She wasn't crying and she wasn't helpless. She just wanted to hold onto him. By the rigidity of the embrace, he got the hint and just let her get it out of her system. After a few minutes of awkward shifting from foot to foot, he cautiously continued, "What's wrong?"

She sniffed and answered at the wall over his shoulder, "Nothing. Just this stupid book."

He didn't catch the lie because it was nicer to believe it was something small and simple instead of complicated and web-like in its expanse. He could save her from a scary book. He couldn't save her from the real world, not from a threat and a truth he didn't know existed. He reached over to the book lying on the window sill and read the title. It didn't seem particularly scary.

"What did you read now?" he groaned. "Did it tell you I'd sprawl horns and a tail? God help us… a third nipple?"

She snorted in her attempt to hold back the laughter. Still, it was too late to tell the truth, not until Dumbledore got back to her with all the details. "It said—Uh, well, that you'd try to assert your masculinity by doing sexual favors for other women and taking part in dangerous sports and I honestly wouldn't put it past you."

He let out a sharp, short guffaw, throwing his head back. "Are you kidding me?" She shook her head, resting her hands on his chest. "As if you'd let me. I don't understand. You've never really worried about what you read in those things, right? They don't apply to us."

"Oh yes, we're special freaks. How silly of me. I forgot."

The sarcasm was evident in her voice. He sighed and pulled her back for a shorter, tighter hug before releasing her. He didn't want to dismiss her fears but he still understood that she needed to distance herself a little more. Though he knew he couldn't just up and leave her – it might kill him as much as her – he couldn't let her be ruled by these obvious lies.

He pushed them apart and made sure her large chocolate eyes met his. She wasn't tearful but she was still horribly, inexplicably tired. "I want you to read my face when I say this so you know I'm not lying," he said, bending down so they were eye to eye. "I would never _touch_ another girl, let alone sleep with one, unless it was a life-or-death situation. And, as much as I'd love there to be, there's no such thing as a life-or-death blowjob."

She smirked. She knew what he meant. She trusted him but, in an attempt to free her mind of the true issue, she took in his words and decided there was a whole other issue they'd never really explored. And, in hopes of occupying his mind with other, more trivial things, she said, "I… I think I'd understand."

He rolled his eyes. "Not this again, 'Mione. I refuse to sleep with another girl just because we haven't… you know, done anything in a bit. Regardless of what you think of men, or me specifically, we don't _only_ think with our penises."

She shook her head and he let his hands fall to her shoulders. "That's not what I meant," she explained. "I meant love. We've sort of become tied to each other by this werewolf thing and I don't want you to think I'm holding it over you, that I'm holding you back. If you fall in love with someone else, if you find someone better or different or—just tell me. Please. I'd understand."

He watched her lips move, lost in utter disbelief. He didn't know how to get the point across without smacking her. Though he knew it wouldn't really hurt the way it did other people, it wasn't kosher to beat around girls let alone his girlfriend. So, he played along.

"Fine, Hermione. If I ever find someone better, I will happily leave you in a ditch somewhere and not look back."

"Deal," she answered. He took back his hands but she figured she'd torture him while she was at it, finishing the deed. "Would you do the same for me?"

"Excuse me?" he sputtered, stopping in his tracks on the way upstairs. He turned around on his heel and raised a curious eyebrow. "_Is_ there another?"

"No no," she answered in a completely unbelievable, suggestive tone. "Of course not. I'm just saying. What if."

He scoffed. "Chea. What if. You know what, no. You may not go off and fall in love. I won't have it."

She laughed and sauntered past him up the stairs. "I dunno," she teased. "That McLaggen has some great stories. He can just talk your ear off for hours, always witty."

He glowered at her, his mouth hanging slightly open. "You're kidding right? The guy's a prat! Whoa whoa whoa! Tell me you're kidding!" he called after her but she just kept slowly walking up the rickety stairs, waving her hips on purpose. "Hermione! You get back here! Tell me that was a joke!"

She laughed all the way to Ginny's room. He ran after her, calling her name. The joke had gotten out of hand and the jealous wolf inside him was growling, scratching at the kitchen door for permission to hunt down McLaggen and force feed him his own intestines.

"Malfoy, shush!" shouted Ginny at her door. "I'm getting changed! Go have your little jealousy fit elsewhere."

"No no. You and 'Mione are practically attached at the fucking hip. Tell me. Has she and McLaggen ever—" He cringed, not wanting to think about it. So, he phrased it. "Has there ever been any interest on either side?"

Ginny laughed. "Oh yes," she played along. "They were hot and heavy under the mistletoe last year. Ron nearly threw a fit."

Draco's eyes opened wide and he was about to scream bloody murder before Ginny shut the door right in his face. He growled and Hermione heard his angry footsteps down the stairs, snickering despite her many worries.

-----

Draco knew it couldn't be real but he went in search of Ron nonetheless. He was sitting outside, alone, staring out into the hedges where Draco knew visitors entered.

"So…" he said, making Ron jump with his wand in the air between them. "Playing guard dog? I think I'm technically better equipped for that."

Ron set down his wand and turned his hard-set brow back towards the high hedges without a single word. Draco dug his hands out of his pockets and went to sit in the chair beside him. It was white and a little rusty but he put his reservations aside.

"You really think she's going to come back?" he asked. Ron didn't say a word, merely leaned forward onto his knees. "Hermione wanted to know. You fucking her?"

"What?" he finally answered, turning to Draco with bug eyes. Draco tried to keep a straight face. This was a serious talk after all.

"I told you hadn't but I wasn't sure. Your face says no but my history with Pansy says yes."

Ron gave a little growl. "You don't know her nearly as well as you think."

Draco couldn't help it. He snorted. "So that's a no on the sleeping together thing. Well, at least you don't have to go get tested now. That's never fun."

"I do not want to talk about this! I don't want to talk period!"

"Look man, I saw you out there on your broom. You're fucked up. You could barely fly straight. I had to tell the others I was tired so we could end the massacre! When have I ever been known to give up a fight, especially one I was winning with eyes closed?"

Ron faced Draco slowly. "_You're_… worried about me?" he whispered with utter disbelief.

Draco shrugged, feigning indifference. "I feel I have to warn you about her. She's, well, you probably know. I mean, there are ways to keep her in check. The whole no-sex thing you've got going on is great but it's not going to last long. She's going to find another guy and you'll have to let it go because it'll be your fault."

Ron furrowed his brow deeply, leaving little red marks when he let the statement – and the tension in his forehead – go. There were so many things wrong with it. _Is that why Hermione and Draco have such a good relationship?_ he thought. _Because they sleep around behind the others' back? _It didn't matter anymore. He was done with Pansy. He knew telling himself that wasn't going to do squat to the feelings in the pit of his stomach, threatening to resurface his lunch even in the calming sounds of the backyard.

"I don't care," he whispered, more to himself than Draco. "She left. I don't care anymore. Besides, aren't you going to tell me to get away from her, that she's dangerous and untrustworthy?"

Draco shrugged again. "Look, man. I don't live in Hermione's happy, little, black and white world. Pansy's a bitch but she's not evil. She's not a believer. I don't know if she loves you but I think she's capable of it. And hey, you could do worse."

Ron didn't say anything and neither did Draco. They didn't move, waiting for the protective feeling to die within both of them. They waited but it never went away. Pansy was still slowly weaving her influence over Ron's pathetic, lonely heart, and Draco was still holding onto her the way he held onto childhood memories. Though neither said it, they could feel the danger brewing from her careless actions and they knew they would have to pick up the pieces for her later. That was what friends did.

They spent a few hours in silence, waiting for her to show through the hedges, but she never did.

-----


	8. The Shape of Things to Come

**CHAPTER EIGHT:** _The Shape of Things to Come_

-----

Draco was falling asleep in the chair outside when Mrs. Weasley stuck her head out the door and called them in for dinner, a dish rag in her hands. He smiled at her and nodded, the homey feeling making his heart warm. He stood up and stretched out into the sunset, kicking Ron in the foot.

"Ow! What?!" he shouted, standing up to kick Draco back.

"Didn't you just hear your mother? It's dinner time."

Ron looked around. "Right. Sorry," he answered but didn't move. He kept hoping to the last second that she'd show but nothing.

Draco practically had to drag him in by the sleeve. Nothing was going to mess up dinner tonight, not for Draco. He'd never sat down at a family dinner like this, especially beside Hermione like a real couple. When he entered the kitchen, his eyes landed on her sitting calmly in the middle of the elongated dinner table. There was a seat on her left. She looked up, met his eyes, and nodded towards it. He smiled brightly and came to sit beside her, hiding his childlike excitement as best he could.

But, as soon as he could, he took her hand and held it under the table all through dinner. For a little while, Draco got to see what it might be like spending the rest of his life with Hermione. He got to imagine what it might be like to have kids and care for them, to eat dinner beside her every day and run a house somewhere quiet with a big yard for Quidditch. For just a little bit, he got to live in the world of What If.

Nobody paid any mind to the empty seat beside Ron. Nobody noticed the way he looked at Draco and Hermione or the way they looked at each other when they thought everyone was focused on their food.

After dessert, everyone started going every which way. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sat by, still telling stories. Draco listened intently until his eyes started to droop again and he yawned. Hermione let of his hand for the first time to rub his back soothingly.

"Why don't we head up to bed?" she suggested sweetly. "I know you didn't sleep last night. I can feel it and it's driving me crazy."

He groaned and stood up. Before he could say anything, Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. "Where do you two think you're going?"

"To bed," said Draco, his face full of obvious confusion. "Where else?"

"Together?" screeched Mrs. Weasley, standing.

Hermione and Draco looked at each other. "Well, yea, we usually sleep two doors down at Hogwarts," said Hermione, "but we'd be fine in separate rooms."

Draco shot her a traitorous glare. _No, we wouldn't! I hate sleeping without you!_ No, no, no, he thought miserably. She shrugged and ignored the glare. _Traitor! Traitor! Traitor!_

"Well, I hope you won't mind Percy's room again," said Mrs. Weasley to Draco, clearing the table.

"That'll be fine," answered Hermione for him. "I'll room with Ginny."

He went to open his mouth to complain but she squeezed his hand painfully hard. "That'll be fine," he said through gritted teeth. Harry chuckled from the living room, shaking his head as though he knew something Draco didn't.

Hermione gave him a quick kiss on the lips and said, "You go ahead. I'm good for a few more hours."

He sighed, resigned, and dragged himself up the stairs to Percy's godforsaken room where it all started and where it would soon end.

-----

Hermione settled herself against the open window in the living room, her books in her lap. She rested her head against the wall and lifted her eyes at every page, checking the horizon for Pig. Ron, Harry and Ginny, who were spread across the sofas, kept checking on her and sharing worried glances.

"Why isn't she up with Draco?" whispered Ginny to her brother, who shrugged, staring out the window himself as though expecting Pansy to glow in the dark. Hermione didn't lift her eyes off the book despite hearing every word as though spoken straight at her.

"Can you believe Draco thought they'd be sleeping together?" whispered Harry to Ginny. "Even _I'm_ not dumb enough to try that."

Ginny covered her mouth to keep from laughing. Ron shushed her a little and went back to staring at nothing. Ginny rolled her eyes and bent down to kiss him quickly. "He doesn't know any better," answered Ginny softly. "Whenever he's wanted something, he's probably gotten it. He never had parents who cared. He's gone through a lot though, you know. I think Hermione's really proud of him for that and she should be."

Harry caressed her arm, settling his head onto her lap. She caressed his hair back from his forehead, tracing his scar. Hermione watched them in her peripheral vision and smirked into her book, now rested onto her folded knees. She gestured for a hovering candle nearby to come closer, her eyes starting to droop. Draco didn't know what his stubbornness to watch over her was actually doing. He thought he was just strong, able to stay away days at a time. He didn't know he was borrowing his strength from _her_.

She didn't want to tell him. He thought he was doing the right thing hiding his pains. The least she could do was take it and give him that peace of mind.

"I'm going to bed," announced Ginny, loud enough for everyone to hear. Harry groaned and sat up off her lap. He nodded and agreed to go too, unable to find another reason to stay awake without her. Hermione envied them because she was still waiting for that blasted reply from Dumbledore.

"You should go up too," Hermione told Ron. "I asked Harry for his cloak this afternoon. I'll be up all night and if she shows up, I'll run up and get you, ok?"

He fought with himself whether to admit he'd been waiting for her. "Yea," he said with a sigh, scratching at the back of his head as he stretched. "Promise?"

Hermione gave him a slow smile. "I promise." It didn't matter if Hermione didn't approve. Ron knew she would never go back on a promise to a friend. So, he did as she asked and was asleep in seconds.

Around 1:00 a.m., Hermione started thinking the letter wasn't coming. Though she knew Dumbledore was known for keeping odd hours, Pig should have been back by now if Dumbledore had been sleeping. Unless… it wasn't safe and Dumbledore had kept Pig until he got somewhere secret. Maybe he wasn't even in the country. She went over the possibilities over and over in her head.

3:00 a.m. – nothing.

4:00 a.m. – nothing.

5:00 a.m. – nothing. No Pansy. No Pig.

It was still pitch dark and the hedges were barely visible in the distance. She closed her eyes here and then, kicking herself for not taking that sleeping potion Ginny kept hinting at. Ginny had started drinking it ever since she and Harry became an item and he started telling her all the particulars of his life. His meetings with Dumbledore, the details of their past escapades…

Hermione had been smart enough to keep that to herself but she didn't lead Harry's life. She didn't have Voldemort after her. As far as the Death Eaters knew, she was Draco Malfoy's MudBlood girlfriend and thus of minimal consequence. Nobody knew she was a werewolf, at least no one who would pass the information along. Draco had gone to great lengths to ensure just that, whether she wanted to admit it or not. She preferred to think she wasn't dating Richie fuckin' Rich.

With a heavy sigh, she threw her books down and hurried upstairs to Ginny's room. She quietly pushed in the door and felt around for Ginny's bag where she knew the potion waited for her. It wasn't the same as Draco's pixie dust, she told herself. She could be easily woken from a sleeping potion. It was just to help ease the worries from her mind. It wouldn't harm anyone else. As soon as Pig tapped on the window or Pansy came bursting in, she would most likely wake and take care of business feeling renewed and refreshed.

Most likely.

She downed the potion in a single gulp and hurried downstairs to her spot by the window before it took effect. She sat down and covered herself in the cloak, resting her tired head against the glass and falling asleep almost instantly.

-----

Draco got a good two hours sleep in before waking up, startled. He cursed, realizing he was covered in cold sweat. He thought to take a shower – oh what he wouldn't do for a shower at that moment – but, since the noise would only wake up the whole ruddy house, he instead decided to lay back and try to get back to sleep.

It didn't work. He kept thinking about stupid Pansy and her stupid actions. She could be giving the Dark Lord a blowjob by now for all knew. He grimaced at the thought, even gagged a little, and turned on his side. He looked out the tiny window facing the gardens. The moon was growing larger, beckoning something he didn't know he had within him.

_Calm yourself, you bloody idiot, _he thought. _You're acting like a little kid who's just wet the bed._

He thought of only one way he was going to get back to sleep. He thought of Hermione. He thought of last Halloween, of staying in. They didn't think anyone would miss them at dinner so Hermione took her spot on the carpet and he by the window, watching her every few minutes. He had no idea she was reading _How to Get Mauled in All the Right Places_.

A little while later, she put on that sour-lemon look and shut her book, outraged. She threw it into a corner and sauntered over to a slightly stunned Draco. She straddled him in his little chair and he thought he was going to blow in that very instant. He had never seen so much confidence in those eyes, in that smirk. He gulped and let her take lead as she ripped off his shirt and gnawed at his neck until he moaned and gave in without a single explanation.

He lifted her up by the back of her thighs and threw her onto the bed where she bounced slightly as though in surprise that it had actually worked. They'd just been so stable for the last few weeks that she thought she was losing him. It was intended to be an incentive, a jumpstart, but she'd never expected him to react so… tenderly.

As soon as he stripped them both completely, he rested her back onto the pillows and smiled sweetly down at her. His hair, still uncut, fell like a curtain around his face, making his brilliant white teeth shine in the darkness of night. He held her fists up above her head and whispered, "Where'd you go learning that?"

"In a book."

His smile molded into a lop-sided smirk as he was still unsure where this was necessarily the truth or even a good thing. "How so?"

"There were very good diagrams. I was curious."

"What did you learn?" he asked, trailing kisses all down her sternum towards her bellybutton. His hand followed his kisses as though cementing into place the mark of his lips on her skin.

"Werewolves have 27 erogenous zones," she huffed out, arching her back as he started nibbling at her inner thigh.

He cackled. "Is this one?"

She nodded furtively, unable to stop the squeal gathering at the back of her throat. Draco thought back on that night as their last truly happy, innocent moment. After that night, they had returned to the monotonous sex and class and sex and class and… Well, he never saw that book again and he wondered if he had done something wrong.

But, that night, he had been truly happy. It wasn't a residual feeling of the night before. It was waking up to her in his bed for the first time of many. She had always slept in her own bed before that point, towards the footboard where he could watch her sleep through the open bathroom doors. He knew it wasn't a large milestone for her but he took it as the first sign that they were growing closer and closer towards a future together. Now, it was almost carved into place but at what cost?

He ignored all those worries and thought of the after, of the feel of her skin under his fingertips as he traced her spine. He didn't know why he liked to do it, only that she loved it and it calmed him. The more he thought about it, the more he realized it had to with their connection. He said it so lightly to Ron and the others but they didn't know. It wasn't an expression. Their minds were truly connected. Even then, from his bed in his lonely, dark room, he could see into the hedges from the window below and knew Hermione was awake. He pondered going down to be with her but something in her _screamed_ to stay away.

Then, as dawn neared, everything in his mind went dark and he knew she was asleep. He sighed, feeling himself get out of bed almost unconsciously with the intent to carry her back up to bed, his own and damn the rules. He carefully descended the stairs and looked to the empty seat by the window. It took him a moment but he realized she must have the invisibility cloak on. He went to reach around for her when he suddenly heard a low, distant growl coming closer.

He stood pin straight and still, listening intently. It was a girl but every hair on his body telling him it was dangerous. Then, he saw her, limping through the hedges. It was a voice but it was in his head. And he knew now who it was.

The pain he'd felt on the way out the Great Hall last week was back, sending him forward onto his knees as though gasping for air. It was so strong, so desperate, and drawing closer by the second. He looked at the empty seat where he could feel Hermione's heat radiating and winced.

_Protect her,_ the wolf inside him growled. _She is your mate. Protect her at all cost._

He stormed out the kitchen doors into the backyard. He stood, fists by his sides, as he waited for whatever it was to draw closer. He could see it now. It was a wolf, like himself, massive and unstable. Its hair was black as the night around it and its claws were so massive that they sunk into the muddy ground as it walked.

It spoke again in his head, horrible growls. It was speaking but he didn't understand the language. All he knew was that it was alone and… scared? Why the bloody hell would that thing be scared? Draco was the one that should be trembling. It was about to ravage his only example of a happy home. It had crossed half the path from the hedges but Draco still clenched his fists, praying it would turn back and he wouldn't have to change. That was the last thing he wanted. He was a person, not a monster. He had Hermione and reluctant friends but friends nonetheless. He was surrounded by good, a good based in love and understanding.

And he had no choice. He was going to have to become the monster to protect it. He stripped himself of his pajama pants and tossed them aside. He closed his eyes and let the anger ensue. Everything his father had ever said, Blaise's abuses… he brought them to life in his head, reliving each excruciating word until the wolf was freed within him.

He shifted and it was effortless, disturbingly so. He crouched down on all fours and roared at the wolf before him, threatening it back. It paused and growled in return. Suddenly, the voice in his head made sense as though he could communicate through howls. In his head, it sounded like—

"_Pansy?" _he called to her in his head. _"Is that you?"_

"_Draco, I'm sorry. I can't stop it."_

"_Can't stop what? What were you sent to do?"_

"_Kill them. Kill them all!" _The growls were getting deadlier, full of pain and anger.

"_Who did this to you?"_ he begged.

The monster stopped, trying to conjure a memory that didn't exist. _"I—I don't know. I can't—can't remember."_

"_Do you remember Ron? He's up there, Parkinson. He's asleep in his bed, safe. Do you really want to hurt him?"_

The monster whined and took two steps back before shaking its head and preparing for the attack. It launched at Draco, who stood in defense. Its head crashed into his torso and he was sent flying back onto his back. It bore its teeth and bit into his side, tearing out a piece of flesh and hair. Draco howled loudly and the house awoke. Every light turned on, scaring the monster a little. He rolled onto his good side and sat on his hind legs.

"_Pansy, I know the destruction spell. If I say it aloud, we'll both die but I won't let you hurt them. Is that what you want? To die?"_

The monster's eyes opened wide and, after a few tense moments, it changed back into the naked girl he'd grown to like and know a bit too well. He walked over to her, limping slightly. He went to shift back and check her wounds but he couldn't. His large brow furrowed and he whined, begging with his eyes for her to help. In different shapes, they couldn't communicate.

Pansy opened her eyes and hugged herself, looking around frantically. She didn't know where she was or why she was naked. All she knew was that it was pitch black and she was standing in the Weasleys' backyard. Her eyes met Draco's large, gold spheres and she started screaming bloody murder.

"HELP! HELP ME!" she called. Draco tried to shush her but, as he drew closer, she only screamed higher. It hurt his sensitive ears mercilessly. He tried to nudge her, to show her he was harmless – her friend – but she slapped his muzzle and something arose in him. He growled back and, to shut her up, he nudged her to the ground. He didn't know his own strength and before he realized what he'd done, her head hit the ground with a soft crunch and blood started leaking from her scalp. The bones in her arm protruded out, obvious broken. Everything was swirling out of control and, dizzy from the blood, he could barely see straight, let alone think. The wolf mind was taking over the longer he stayed in shape.

He looked back to the house and decided he could do nothing in this state. He didn't even know if anyone was going to follow her and harm them but he had to take her to safety. He bent down and picked her up in his teeth, bringing her over to the Weasleys' back porch. Before he could set her down, Harry, Ginny, Ron, and their parents were standing at the back door, wands in the air.

"Put her down, you filthy beast," growled Mrs. Weasley. Didn't she recognize him? Didn't she know he'd never harm anyone? Then, he realized Hermione was still asleep, hidden in the chair. Why hadn't she woken? Why wasn't she there to save him from himself?

He did as asked then took a few steps closer, instinct driving his paws. He felt Hermione shuffling awake, having obviously heard his frantic mental calls, and came up behind them. Before she could say a thing, Mr. Weasley lifted his wand in the air, muttered something quickly, and Draco was sent flying back fifty yards. Just as the world went dark, he felt his skin retract and his body return to normal.

-----

**More coming soon! Review, you know, if you want.**


	9. What If

**CHAPTER NINE:** _What If__  
_(aka Hermione vs. Nurse Wretched)

-----

_In the words of LonelyBeat, more or less, this is the story so far:_

Draco bit Hermione  
They fell in love  
Blaise became prince asshole/ Voldemort's bitch  
Blaise has to kill Dumbledore instead of Draco  
Something, presumably one of Voldemort's slaves, bit Pansy  
Hermione's going to be in trouble for not telling Draco that he was sapping her strength AND for taking a sleeping potion which could have cost pansy her life  
oh and Pansy doesn't know that she is a werewolf.

_That's more or less it. Just to add a few things, Ron and Pansy are secretly in love, sort of, Narcissa lied to Hermione about James (Pansy's brother), and we still don't know what Seneca is, only that it's a place and not a person._

-----

"NO!" Hermione screamed, rushing to his side. Ron hurried off to Pansy's, stripping off his shirt to cover her with. Mrs. Weasley, who was wearing a robe, took it off and offered it to her son.

"Cover her with this," she told Ron, not really lifting her head to see Draco lying bleeding on the ground. "Hermione, get back from that thing."

Everyone froze when Hermione parted and Draco's eerie, pale skin glowed in the moonlight. Their eyes widened slowly. From then on, it was a mess of movements and shouting and angry stares. "Draco?" whispered Ginny.

"Dear God. It was too dark. I didn't realize it was him," said Mr. Weasley. Mrs. Weasley just covered her mouth and hid in her son's shoulder. Mr. Weasley took off his robe and handed it to Hermione, who covered Draco with it tenderly. He was bleeding profusely from his side and she wasn't sure where to hold him, what to do. She didn't even have a wand. Ginny saw the look of desperation on her face and took charge, dragging Harry behind her.

"Levitacorpus," he said, lifting Draco off the ground effortlessly. With the point of his wand, he moved them towards the house. The sun rose behind him, helping him move them more easily. Hermione couldn't bear to look this time. This wasn't a strange boy, not even the same boy who crashed into the Weasleys' kitchen last summer. This was her mate and they were both aching. All she could do was watch her blood-stained hands shake in the dim kitchen light, like some useless doll everyone overlooked.

An hour later, Ginny rushed down to check on her. "'Mione!" she called, having to wake her up out of her trance. "Mom and Dad had to Apparate them to St. Mungo's. The Ministry's coming to relocate the family."

"What?" She shot up to her feet. "I have to go to St. Mungo's then! I can't be relocated without him!"

"It's okay. Narcissa and Moody are coming to get you," said Ron, coming down the stairs. He stared at the blood now dried and flaking on his palm. "They'll take us to Grimmauld while you visit him."

"Visit? No no. I have to be with him, near him, _now_!"

Ron shook his head. He looked so tired, his hair up in odd places. "Hermione, relax. There's nothing you can do."

She stood up and gripped his shoulders, bringing him almost nose to nose. "You listen to me, Ronald Weasley. That boy is tied to me like you're tied to oxygen. Literally! Now, we're going to get me to that hospital this instant or you're—"

In that instant, Narcissa Apparated into the kitchen beside Moody. The poor woman looked like she'd aged twenty years overnight. Hermione shot towards her and gripped the waist of her flowing, elegant nightgown.

"Narcissa, they took him to St. Mungo's. I have to get there. I have to!" she pleaded, her voice hoarse. "I can feel him slipping. I need to—"

Narcissa rolled her eyes and slapped Hermione clear across the face. "You're hysterical, child!" she shouted. "Calm yourself! He. Is. Fine."

Hermione held her cheek and shook her head. "What part of I can fucking feel him slipping don't you all understand?!" Everyone froze to look at her, eyebrows raised. "I am not hysterical. I am telling you what needs to be done. If you want your son to live, get me to his bedside this instant!"

Narcissa looked like she was about to blow a blood vessel, two giants fighting for the fate of the same pigheaded little boy. Moody had to step in between them. "Stop it! Both of you!" He turned towards Hermione and rested his good hand on her shoulder. Something about his eyes, though grotesque as his face was, calmed her instantly. It must have been a mixture of fear-inspiring looks and overwhelming confidence. "No one is getting in, Hermione. It's not us. They've moved him to the criminal wing. They're going to charge him for assaulting Pansy."

Hermione couldn't stop the tears any longer. Their cold stung against her blazing red cheeks. "No…" she breathed out. "He couldn't have."

"Her clothes were in shreds by her ankles. She was bruised all over, bones were broken, she was covered in filth, and everyone here saw him carrying her in his mouth. Hermione, we don't know what happened. They're both unconscious. We don't know anything."

"Exactly!" Hermione defended. "They don't know anything. How could they charge him just like that?"

Narcissa shut her eyes and clapped her hand over her mouth. She turned and whispered, "They're bringing up the charges for the Death Eaters he killed trying to escape from Spain."

Hermione gulped because he'd never spoken about this to her and she knew never to ask. He had told her once, quite simply, that he had killed them. Who was she to judge him when she knew nothing of the circumstances? After all, how many werewolves had they killed in self-defense at Malfoy Manor? All she needed to know was that the deaths haunted him and that he dreamt of them often, that he had never killed before that day and hoped never to do so again. She only prayed the courts would be as understanding.

Just as Hermione had conceded to staying until relocation, Pig tapped on the window impatiently. She ran to the window and hugged pig to her chest. "You crazy, stupid bird! Where have you been?" she mumbled, ripping the note from its leg. It read:

_Ms. Granger,_

_I am aware of what happened. You keep your silence and I'll get you to him. Trust the Order to keep you both safe._

_Albus Dumbledore._

She scoffed and threw the piece into the fire. "Screw this," she whispered and grabbed a handful of floo powder from above the fireplace. She turned back towards the others and, before throwing that powder into the fire, she called, "Relocate them. _Now_."

Moody's eye shot wide open. His mangled arm reached out to stop her but it was too late. In seconds, Death Eaters would have tracked her through the floo network and she knew she had seconds to get inside St. Mungo's. The closest fireplace to St. Mungo's was just across the street at a public terminal. She knew once inside, the Ministry would be there protecting Draco and she could penetrate easily enough.

She took a deep breath, causing her to cough at all the ash and powder in the air, and stepped forward onto the platform. She half-expected thirty wands would be pointed at her throat the instant she got out but no. Nobody noticed she was there. The terminal was bustling with people heading to work and so nobody noticed the little girl wearing yesterday's clothes running like hell across the street into St. Mungo's. She stopped once she saw the Aurors inside, even smirking proudly.

They stood out. They all had their battle scars and weary faces like they hadn't slept in a century. How could they with all they'd seen? Hermione didn't know why Harry thought it was such an interesting career choice. She kept imagining him in a policeman's uniform, running around the streets of Cardiff beating people with long sticks. She stifled a giggle at the thought and hurried to where Shacklebolt stood. She knew it was dangerous going to him in front of the other Aurors but it didn't matter to her now. Damn the world. Damn the safety measures.

"Sir! Sir, my name is Hermione Granger!" she called, pretending they didn't know each other. "I need to see Draco Malfoy. I know he's being held here."

He turned towards the nurse at the front desk and asked, "What room is Draco Malfoy being held in? This young lady needs to see him."

The sour-faced nurse just rolled her eyes. "Mr. Malfoy is in the criminal wing, Mr. Shacklebolt. You know that. Only immediate family is allowed in."

"I _am_ family," argued Hermione weakly. "I'm—I'm his mate, ok? He's not going to get better until he has me by his side. We sort of have this symbiotic thing going on and—"

The nurse's eyes shot open. "Do you mean you're a—"

Hermione put a hand in the air between them, gesturing her to stop. She looked around to make sure nobody was noticing her and pulled down the collar of her blouse, revealing the silvery bite mark where Draco had bitten her all those nights ago.

"I'm his _mate_. Do you understand? I nearly got killed coming here to see him. Would you please just take me to him?" she begged, covering her scar back up. It was obvious the nurse knew what the bite meant.

She groaned and rubbed at her eyes. Did no one sleep at this hospital? Grudgingly, she took Draco's chart off the front desk and nodded towards the hallway as though gesturing for Hermione to follow. She practically had to run to keep up but there was no way she was being left behind now. The moment they entered the wing, she paused and closed her eyes. The nurse stopped and looked at her curiously, one overly plucked eyebrow raised.

"What are you—" she began but Hermione shushed her as politely as possible.

"I'm listening for him." Surely enough, in the gray mist in her mind, she felt his smile beckoning her to him. Her feet started to move by themselves and she found herself before a curtained-off bed with red splotches on the floor like someone had recently vomited blood there. She grimaced and pulled open the curtain, tears instantly escaping her. She whispered, "Oh God, Draco…"

He looked asleep but she had no way of knowing. His arm dangled over the edge of the bed limply as though dead and all Hermione kept thinking was that this fucking hospital had absolutely horrible care for its prisoners! Seriously! Blood on the floor? Were they trying to make everybody sick? Did they have any ideas what werewolf blood did to normal people? He was _contagious_! Why wasn't he in _that_ ward, if they insisted on having a ward for every bloody wizarding disease known to man?

And chains? They had him in chains like some wild animal at a zoo? What sort of hospital was this?!

"Will you be alright on your own, miss?" a younger nurse asked, blankets in her arms. "This is the criminal ward, you know. It's not safe. He's a werewolf so we were all afraid to touch him."

Hermione snapped around, bearing her gold, feral eyes. The nurse took a step back. "Can I get some new bandages over here for him please?" Hermione growled through gritted teeth. "And one of the stand-by wands for me so I can try to fix him up since you lot seem to have forgotten how to treat patients all of a sudden."

The nurse nodded and skidded off. "Come for that conjugal visit already?" said a voice behind Hermione. A small snicker came from the bed, followed by angry-sounding coughs. She snapped around and placed a pillow from the vacant bed beside Draco under his head.

"Draco Malfoy, you scared me witless! How many times have I warned you against stupid things like this?" she screeched, practically ripping his bandages off.

He caught her hand in his tight grip and forced her to face his half-open eyes. He stopped smiling quickly. "Have you… Were you crying? Why are you crying?"

Her bottom lip trembled and she pulled away from his grasp. He was still strong so he couldn't possibly be as terminal as she was led to believe. "Draco, you're in St. Mungo's with your guts practically in a bucket by your bed and you're asking me why I'm fucking crying?"

His voice seemed as harried as he looked. "I'm alive. Didn't you hear me? In your head, I mean. I was telling you I was fine, not to worry. If you'd gone to sleep, you would have seen. How are you even here? Dumbledore said he'd come get you from Grimmauld tomorrow."

She scoffed as she seemed to do now at the mention of Dumbledore. "I can barely spend three days away from you when you're healthy and you're asking me to wait till tomorrow when you're _dying_?"

He shook his head and rested back, closing his eyes. "I'm not dying. I'll be fine."

"Yea yea yea. 'I'll be fine. I'll be fine.' How many times have you told me that and you just keep ending up in places like this, getting bandaged by these incompetent—" She stopped as a different, older nurse came back with a clean set of bandages.

"Would you like me to do that, dear? You shouldn't be around werewolf blood," she said with a particular sneer of disdain at the word "werewolf."

Hermione's anger and frustration were reaching new heights. Her eyes were going from gold to bloody red but this nurse didn't seem to get the hint. She just looked at Draco like he was some Rebel Without A Cause playboy who deserved what he got. Hermione could see it written on her sneering face and it took every ounce of strength inside her not to scratch out the nurse's eyes where she stood.

"Down girl," said Draco behind her, his eyes still closed. She was sure he could feel it inside her now, the anger. If love was a strong light calling him closer, anger was like a freakin' lighthouse in his head that he couldn't turn off. "She means well."

Hermione ignored him completely but the nurse didn't. In fact, her eyes lingered a few seconds too long on Draco's chest and the blood started to boil in Hermione's veins. "You can tell your nurses they don't have to worry about the blood anymore," she told her snidely. "I'm his mate, understood? And I'm taking care of him until they drag him out of here in chains, if need be. I don't want anyone else coming in here without my express authorization."

"I'm sorry, miss, but mates aren't recognized as—"

"She's also my fiancée," added Draco, lifting Hermione's right hand up to the nurse. The Malfoy signet ring still rested there. It was the wrong hand but a frantic, scared nurse wasn't going to bother with the particulars. "Does your hospital recognize _that_?"

Hermione gulped and looked down, turning a few redder though not of anger. They hadn't talked about this. They could barely make Christmas plans and he was talking marriage? The nurse left and Hermione didn't notice. Her mind was screaming _WHAT THE FUCK?!_ in a variety of different languages.

She turned back towards him and pulled her hand away. "Draco, that was cruel. And a horrible lie!"

"Why was it cruel? It's not like they'll check the ring or anything and you were spazzing out. I had to do something. You were about to pop a blood vessel."

She shook her head and dragged a chair over to his side so she could stop bending over as she much more gently removed the blood-soaked bandages. "I meant you shouldn't say those things in front of me."

It peaked his curiosity. "Why?" he begged with loving eyes, eyes she tried desperately to avoid. She wasn't exactly in the clearest emotional state. "Would it really be so horrible to pretend to be my wife? Even for a few hours?"

She shook her head again and wiped away a tear. "No. Not horrible," she said sadly but that was all either could muster. Draco fell back asleep, more from exhaustion than anything, before he could question her further so they didn't have time to talk of Pansy or what happened on the Weasleys' backyard. She didn't need to know. Like she'd said, she was his mate and she was going to sit by his bedside until they had her declared insane and dragged her off to the asylum. This, she suspected, might be quite soon if she kept growling at the nurses.

They brought her a wand to use in the meantime, one of the ones they stashed away in case one of the nurses or doctors forgot their own. She found it funny that instead of fire extinguishers, they had cases with extra wands with the St. Mungo seal burned into the handles. It just seemed horribly unsafe.

She was also surprised that no one else had visited. No one from the Ministry, from the Order, not even the Weasleys came to see them and she began to worry. She didn't want to wake Draco but as dusk approached, it was starting to get spooky inside the curtains. The other patients howled in pain constantly and very few nurses came to treat them. After all, they were criminals. Who cares if they died? She couldn't imagine this cheeky little boy she loved being seen with such blind hatred. Then again, she was a MudBlood and how many looked down at her with the same blindness. Hadn't he at one point? Why was it so different when they treated Draco like this? Was it because she loved him? Had he understood this long before her? Was this why he changed his views on… hell, everything?

The more she stared at the curves of his tattered up face, memorizing each angular line and white-blond hair, the more she started to wonder what she would do if he didn't wake. Though she kept close track of his chest's up and down motions, she kept dreading the moment when everything would stop, when his body would be completely still. And, it was in that moment that she admitted that she had no idea what she would do. She was quite sure nature had chosen that for her.

Every book said the same thing. When one mate dies, the other follows. And she understood now. The mere thought of losing him was so painful that if he ever did pass on, she would feel compelled to follow.

It terrified her further and she thought she was going to go insane if Draco didn't wake soon. He'd promised he'd never go away again but here he was, lost to some wonderful dream she couldn't yet share. When she couldn't stare at him anymore without crying, she looked down at the ring that never left her hand and began to think of the only waking dream she knew to scare away her fears.

What if she was the future Mrs. Malfoy? What if they were away on a beach somewhere instead of this horrid place? What if she didn't need to keep proving their love to the world? What if they just were… happy? What if. And she hoped wherever he went in his dreams, he could see through her eyes as she longingly took in the engravings on the ring.

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**Reviews make Draco wake up. **More on Pansy's state and the trial next chapter.


	10. Perchance to Dream

**CHAPTER TEN:** _Perchance to Dream_

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_Twofer this week. I just love you all that much. For those who asked, no, that was __**not**__ the first proposal last chapter. That won't come till later. They are not engaged. And who says the proposals have anything to do with marriage anyway? *Wink*_

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The moon wasn't visible from the criminal ward but Hermione knew it was there, getting larger and larger by the moment. She shut the curtains again and was about to stab Draco awake with her wand when she heard the booming sound of the ward doors opening and the familiar light step of Albus Dumbledore drawing closer. She let out a deep sigh, stood, and parted the curtains again to greet him. He wasn't alone. Moody and Narcissa flanked him, both looking as grave as Hermione felt.

"Good evening, Ms. Granger," the old man said, obviously peeved at her.

She looked down at her feet, her hands behind her back, and mumbled, "Good evening, Professor."

Narcissa put both hands on her hips. "Hermione, do you know how worried sick I've been? They haven't let me come up. Apparently Draco was under special care and they were under specific orders not to let anyone up. Whose special care?!"

Hermione gulped. "Mine, ma'am."

Moody snickered a little behind Narcissa and she turned around to glare at him. He tried to hide the laugh behind a cough but it sounded terribly unconvincing. She turned her whole torso back towards Hermione and continued her barrage of accusation and nonsensical comments.

"Do you even know where you are, young lady? You are in a ward with _criminals_! You could have been killed!" Hermione looked around at the other beds but no one had even moved, hadn't called for a nurse. Apparently, they just put the criminals to sleep and it seemed to calm the staff's consciences for the day. "And what's this about being my son's _fiancée_? Lovely hearing it from the nurse at the front desk. For one thing, you are too young and I don't think they allow you to marry from prison—"

Dumbledore rolled his eyes and lifted his arms in the air, telling her as politely as he could must to shut up already. Hermione gave a small crooked smile at the old man. He had been rather absent this year but she couldn't be mad at him for long. He had a way of understanding.

"Would you care to explain?" he allowed.

She sighed and began, "For one, you people really don't seem to get that we have a physical as well as emotional connection. He is not my fiancé; he is my _mate_. I can feel when he is in pain. I couldn't very well wait for a nonspecific time when I might be allowed to see him. Also, they wouldn't let me stay so Draco told them I was his fiancée to shut them up. They were taking horrible care of him! I refuse to take back my lies on that regard. He would have bled out if it weren't for me!"

Narcissa crossed her arms and shook her head. "A mate? In every sense of that word? That's ridiculous. Werewolves don't mate, do they? They're always alone."

"Or in hunting packs," added Moody. "They don't usually live long enough to mate, I'm afraid."

Hermione scoffed. "No kidding. I've read up. We're probably the first real mates in a century," she mumbled under her breath.

"Makes sense, Cissy. Besides, you were practically pushing them to the altar not two months ago. What's changed?"

She and Moody continued to argue amongst themselves while Dumbledore gently ushered her to the empty bed beside Draco. "Ms. Granger, have you told him yet?" he asked, most solemnly.

She shook her head because of course she had no idea what he was talking about. She had lied to get him to reveal something. "Good. We wouldn't want him to suffer more than necessary. To learn such a thing about his mentor would surely hurt him."

"No, I suppose we wouldn't want him to suffer," she answered, still confused. The only mentor Draco really had was Severus Snape but Draco wasn't exactly the blindest person, not the way she was. He knew Snape was less than refutable and even downright shady and admired him for it.

"Tonks and Remus are set to return tomorrow from the hill. They were doing recognizance. You may speak with them at Christmas."

Hermione stood up quickly and faced him. "What about the trial? What about Pansy?"

"Ms. Parkinson has woken and has no memory of this morning. All we know is that she has most definitely been bitten. Whether it was Draco or not… we'll just have to wait for Draco to wake up to question him further."

She nodded and pursed her lips. "But the trial, sir. It's still going on, isn't it?"

"That is beyond my control, but it has been delayed while the opposition gathers evidence. This incident has brought up too many questions to ignore and I must admit that even I am curious as to how he will respond to the accusations."

She looked back at him, sleeping still. His chest rose and fell in perfect rhythm and she now wished he never woke up. She wanted desperately to dive into his head and join him in that wonderland. Still, she was in the real world and the real world demanded answers. "What are the charges?"

She was prepared to fight, with clubs or words but she was going to fight. "Murder, my dear," he answered grimly. "Also, torture and the spread of lycanthropy which you've essentially proven by your admission to the staff here. Should any officials ask the nurses…"

Hermione covered her mouth to keep herself from cursing mildly. "Is there a chance he'll win?"

Dumbledore smiled. "There is always a chance, my dear, as long as others are willing to speak in his favor. I will, of course, act as a character witness."

"I'd like to speak as well," she shouted suddenly so there was no mistaking her intentions. He nodded and gestured for her to sit back down. She took the bit of bed by Draco's feet so she could face Dumbledore more directly. "Just tell me when."

"I've managed to convince the others that he's not a flight risk but he'll still be put on house arrest for the holidays. The trial will be after Christmas but an exact date has not been mentioned." He stopped and put on an expression of clear disgust. "They're just itching to get at Lucius Malfoy's son. I expect the others would just be happy to put away a werewolf. Either way, it would surely mean The Kiss."

Hermione gulped. Dumbledore stretched out and patted her shoulder. In an instant, his face lit up.

"Worry not, my dear. I'm sure we'll find a way. I've sent some books over to Headquarters. I imagine you'll all be spending the holidays there. Since I will be away on business, I expect you'd like to read them over in preparation for the trial."

She went to reply when Dumbledore nodded towards the bed behind her. Draco was rousing awake slowly, calling her name softly. A wave of relief sent her blood pressure crashing. She had never felt so tired so suddenly. Dumbledore saw it and excused himself, dragging an arguing Narcissa and Moody out behind him with promises of explanations. Hermione smiled as she watched them go. She looked down at Draco and wiped away the last tear of the night.

"Hey you," she whispered lovingly.

He rubbed at his eyes, obviously still sleepy. The nurses' potions had won over him. "Hey," he grumbled, caressing her arm halfheartedly. "What time is it?"

She laughed. "I have no idea. It's late. You've been sleeping all day."

He opened his eyes as wide as they would go, which wasn't much, but he managed to grip her arm well enough. "I left you alone again! I'm so sorry!"

She shrugged. Who was she kidding? She looked around at the state of the real world. He was better off dreaming where it was safe. If he slept, maybe he'd stay innocent a little longer. There was only pain out here. "It's not your fault. Why don't you go back to sleep?"

He eyed her curiously and scooted over, gritting his teeth to hide the pain of motion. She ran a gentle hand over her precise bandages around him bare torso. She bit her bottom lip and did as he silently asked. She carefully lied down on her side facing him, as far away from him as possible, and reached out to run her hand through his hair. He moaned softly and her false smile brightened.

"You going to follow or are you going to stare at that stupid ring some more?" he said with closed eyes, already slipping back to sleep. She smirked and smacked him lightly on the chest. "So, when's the trial?"

She shut her eyes tight. She didn't want to talk about it. She wanted to delay the news as long as possible. "Uh, well… You don't have to worry about it for a few weeks. We get to spend Christmas together. Actually, you're on house arrest which means you get to spend 24 hours a day locked in a room… with little ol' me."

He laughed softly and took her hand, placing it over his heart. "That sounds heavenly," he slurred. She smiled and tried to close her eyes. She cautiously inched closer and closer, his left arm between them. "Hey, 'Mione? Will you sing for me? I want to hear you sing."

She bit her bottom lip so much it bled but she wasn't going to cry. She wasn't going to tell him the truth. She wasn't going to tell him he was probably going to get sent to prison just like his father, despite all he'd done to avoid becoming like him. She wasn't going to tell him they might be permanently split up, that they might die before he ever saw that cell because of what they were. She wasn't going to tell him that she'd probably sealed his fate that day she stupidly went to check on him while he slept.

No, she wasn't going to talk or cry. She closed her eyes and pretended everything was okay, just for another night, because that is what you do for the person you love. You do everything you can to protect them. She smiled at the memory of his words back at Hotel Gravita and continued to stroke his hair, humming the first lullaby that came to mind until she too fell asleep.

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Hermione was the first to wake the next morning. If it was up to the ward nurse, Draco wouldn't have woken at all but Hermione managed to get him sitting up and eating on his own and everything. He didn't complain about the attention because he knew it was Hermione's way of compensating. He knew she was hiding something but he wasn't stupid enough to ask, not yet. He trusted her enough to know when to shut up and take it. But, any other day, Hermione would have rather kissed Trevor the Frog long before she treated him so obligingly.

The first thing he did was look around, confused, and caught her eyes. "Hermione!" he exclaimed, his voice slurred from the potions. "Hermione, you need to know what happened. You need to know! I didn't hurt her. I didn't mean to. She just—"

Hermione reached over and covered his mouth. "I don't need to know. I know you'd never hurt her but this looks bad, Draco. I just need to know if she was a werewolf before you attacked her."

He nodded after a moment, his gray eyes wide and alert. Her shoulders collapsed with relief. "Then you were just defending your friends. Don't worry. I don't want a single worry running through that head of yours, understood?"

Midday, Nurse Wretched with the constant sneer came back and, before Hermione could do a thing to stop it, Draco was asleep again. She lifted up his wrist with two delicate fingers and it crashed back down onto to the bed, limp as a noodle. She grimaced at the idea of more lonely hours and sat down in her chair, propping her bare feet up by his.

"So…" she began, talking to his unconscious body. "How was your day, dear?"

There was no reply but she went on nonetheless, smirking at her own insanity.

"Mine was okay. The food here is horrid, but you knew that already, and I'm in desperate need of a shower but you probably knew that too." She giggled and tugged at the collar of her blouse. It was sticking to her, despite the snow outside. "I keep thinking about Christmas dinner. I have no idea how we're going to do it. I promised myself we'd have us all under one roof and so far it sounds like it might happen but I'm starting to think that's not a very good idea at all. You see, Tonks secretly wants to become a werewolf to be with Remus. I have no clue if she's told him she's in love with yet even but she was willing to turn for him so it's serious. Seriously sick but who am I to judge? I'm talking to my boyfriend's unconscious body. I might as well be talking to the bloody wall."

One of the other patients snorted in the distance but she ignored it and continued.

"Now, let's see. Well, your supermodel mother is dating one of the world's ugliest older men alive but we haven't told you because we haven't a clue how you'd respond. And, being you, you probably already know and are just torturing us with your silence. What else have I been meaning to tell you? Well, I hate your ex-girlfriend with a passion. I don't care how you protect her. It's her fault you're in here and her fault the past charges were even brought up. Now she's wrapped her whore-y legs around one of my best friends and, as many times as I tell him to run for the hills, he just scoffs and waves it off. How do you tell someone they're dating Satan? I have no idea how I can sit across a dinner table from Ron after finding out what he does at night but I'll have to because I stupidly decided we needed a Hallmark Christmas."

Suddenly, something crashed in the distance. It sounded like a metal bedpan and she pondered going to pick it up but decided she was too tired to get up. Someone started coughing nonstop. She waited for a nurse to show up but no one did. Sighing, she tore her aching feet off the bed and pulled the curtain back. It was coming from the bed in the aisle across from Draco's, nearest the far north window. It was a man by the hoarseness of the cough. She saw a pitcher of water near the foot of the bed and poured him a glass.

"I'll be right there, sir. Try to breathe," she said calmly, slipping behind the curtain. She froze when she saw him. His hair was filthy and he was in a striped prisoner's uniform but those cold gray eyes… she fell asleep to similar eyes every night. Only now, they were a white, blank shade and he had severe burn marks across one cheek. She couldn't be sure it was Lucius but every bone in her body was shivering with fear. It didn't matter. He was in pain and she wasn't that cruel. She wasn't like _them_. She brought the glass up to his lips and he drank hungrily.

"Thank you, child," he said and rested his head back on the pillow.

She knew she was going to kick herself for this later but she had to know. "Do you know who I am?"

He smirked sinisterly. Men like Lucius only knew how to smirk the one way. But, by the way he stared at the ceiling, he had to be blind. "Your voice. Yes, you are my son's…"

"Mate. I'm his mate."

"Yes. That's a fitting term."

She shook her head with disbelief. "What are you doing here, Lucius? Why can't you just leave him alone?"

He sat up quickly, too quickly, and started coughing again. She braced herself and helped him back down, giving him more water. "He is here? Why? Why is he here? You were supposed to protect him!"

She laughed incredulously. "I am! I haven't left his side! He's being put on trial for what he did trying to escape that castle in Spain. That's all thanks to you. Where were you when he needed you then?"

His face turned somber but he only cackled slightly. "I've made my peace with it. But you. You can't let him end up where I am. You can't," he pleaded, clutching her arm. It was too pitiful. She couldn't bear to look at him any longer. She started shouting for a nurse, any nurse, bringing her wand to her neck to amplify her voice.

They came running in and pulled him off. "Make him sleep!" she commanded. "Please! Just make him sleep!"

"No!" he begged, squirming against the heavy silver chains. "No! Please! Kill me! I'm begging you! Kill me!"

In an instant, Lucius was asleep but his handprints were still on her arms. She felt like ripping her arms off to get rid of the evidence. _Great. Another thing to keep from Draco,_ she thought. She didn't know how she was going to keep those walls in her mind high until after the trial.

She shut the curtains behind her and sat down in her little chair but his bed, bending her legs to her chest. She hadn't been cold before because she was so in tune with Draco, who slept snugly beneath his sheets, but the cold of December was sweeping over her skin mercilessly. She hissed and hid her face in her knees, rocking back and forth hazardously in the chair.

With a heavy sigh, she looked him over and continued where she'd left off, her voice shaky and weak. "Right," she began. "Where were we? Oh yes. Your ex-girlfriend is the devil and I want to tear her to pieces with my teeth but seeing as she's apparently a werewolf too now, it might be slightly harder. I don't even want to think of the trial because it makes me want to vomit and I have no idea how I'm going to distract you all Christmas. I wish I could predict your reactions but even when we're knee-deep in each other's heads, you still manage to pull a 180 on me just when I think I have you figured out. For all I know, you'll have a psychotic breakdown or ignore it just as I plan to. I don't know! And that's even more nauseating!"

_Agh, I can't take this anymore,_ she thought and kicked off her slippers as quietly as possible. She sat on the bed and pivoted expertly as to not wake him when her body weight sunk into the bed. She slid her feet in first under the covers, careful not to meet his, and inched closer and closer as she'd done the night before. She looked up at his pointy chin and sallow skin and smiled. She reached up and caressed his hair as she liked to do at moments of fancy.

"Sleep well, Draco Malfoy," she whispered into his shoulder, slowly slipping into sleep.

The darkness turned to gray mist and she thought, for just an instant, she heard the mist reply, "Good night, Hermione Granger."

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Draco woke first the next day. It was now Friday the 20th according to the tear-away daily calendar tacked up by his headboard. It only made him groan and grimace like a little kid. Damn the trial, damn the Ministry and Voldemort and all that came at them seemingly all at once. Christmas was just five days away and he hadn't been able to set up Hermione's present yet. He didn't know how long Hermione had been asleep or the state of the world and he didn't care. He was a Malfoy and Malfoys didn't mess around with Christmas.

It was a sacred day, not because of baby Jesus or three kings or any such nonsense. It was sacred because it was the one day they had the opportunity – nay, right – to put their neighbors in their place, and no one could ever say Lucius phoned in Christmas. Sure, he always got crazy extravagant gifts that Draco had absolutely no interest in but the whole family shared the sort of sick appreciation of objects simply for their price.

He knew Hermione wasn't the same. She valued sentiments. Luckily, the same fates that crossed their paths in the first place seemed to make it incredibly easy for him. Because, whether he knew it or not, he'd bought her gift over eight years ago. It just sat there, waiting for her, and he couldn't wait for her to wake to be able to set it all up. He was useless from that bed, he couldn't stand, and he was damn sure that if he screamed bloody murder, nobody would come.

So, he grew a pair and woke the sleeping dragon with crazy hair snuggled into left shoulder. "Hermione!" he hissed. "Wake up, love!"

She mumbled something incoherent and swung her leg over his, her knee coming into direct contact with his groan. He screeched and bit at his knuckles. He was already a little excited from some dream he didn't remember so he was feeling extra sensitive at that moment.

"Goddamn it!" he screamed and Hermione shot awake, rolling right out of bed onto the floor. He twisted as best he could to look down at the spot of floor she now seemed to adorn. "'Mione! 'Mione, are you okay?"

She groaned, rubbing her head, and sat up. "Bugger."

"Sorry love. Didn't mean to scare you but you were kicking at the family jewels and you'd just hate yourself later if those got ruined before house arrest."

She didn't like the cheeky grin he put on when mentioning house arrest. They were going to be surrounded by armed Aurors, not masseuses. Was he insane? Silly question to ask at that point. Of course the possibility of sex would wipe his mind clean as a whistle.

"I'm awake. I'm awake. What did you need?" she said, rubbing the side of her head where it hit the tile floor.

He smiled apologetically and extended a uselessly weak hand to help her stand. She sat down on the side of the bed and covered him up again. He took her wrists and turned her so they'd be eye to eye. This was a crucial request. This was Christmas, for crying out loud!

"I need you to do me a favor and I need it now. Is my mother downstairs?" She nodded. It was probable. "I need you to bring her up to me, and then I need you to leave."

And Hermione's nausea returned as she pondered Seneca and his mother and Snape and all the things he probably knew and withheld only to torment her. She furrowed her brow. He rolled his eyes. "It's just for a second, right?"

He nodded. "I just need her to find something for me. It's kind of personal. I'll tell you about it after it's done. Just… do me that favor and go check on your people in the meantime. I'm sure they're worried."

She grudgingly obliged – because he'd been half dead a few days ago – and was about to open the curtains when Draco caught her wrist again. "Yes?" she turned and said.

He took in a deep breath and confessed, "I need you to do one more thing."

"What's that?" she asked, her hands on her hips. If he kept asking favors, she was going to need a freakin' list to keep track. What was next? Call the Prime Minister to see if he wanted to have tea? Oh, she wouldn't put that past him either.

After a moment, he finished, "I need you to go to Pansy."

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Yay for long and slow… chapters, of course!** Review!**


	11. Torch

**CHAPTER ELEVEN:** _Torch_

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A few important plot questions from readers:

**Is Draco's gift something from the actual books?** –No. I made it up. Don't go trying to figure it out.  
**Is Lucius' appearance in the hospital important to plot?** –To Hermione's motivations to protect Draco yes, not to plot.  
**Wasn't Lucius supposed to have been Kissed a while ago?** –A specific time was never mentioned on purpose, just "soon" which is apparently not yet. So, no.  
**Is he blind?** – Yes.  
**What song does Hermione sing to Draco?** –It's always something by Frank Sinatra in my stories. You pick the song.

-----

Hermione walked the wards of St. Mungo's feeling much like Marie Antoinette must have felt on her way to the guillotine. She had spoken to Narcissa. Two words in and Cissy was rushing upstairs to the criminal ward. Job one complete. Easy. But, before she could reach Pansy's private room, she found her missing entourage on the floor waiting room. They stood when they saw her, mixed expressions clouding their eyes.

"Harry! Ron!" she called, running to hug them. Before she could turn to hug Ron, Ginny came up behind her and handed her a cup of coffee. She'd only brought three so she excused herself to get another.

"What up with her?" asked Hermione, concerned. Their eyes were all puffy and bruised from lack of sleep. She took the seat between Harry and Ron, who looked oddly grim.

"She's just tired," answered Harry, shrugging his arms dismissively. "We had to help relocate to Headquarters and it was kind of a hassle. We haven't slept."

Hermione's lips formed a soft "o" shape. She turned to Ron and nudged his shoulder with her own, trying to rouse his spirits with a forced smile. He shot her the most pitiful smile ever to cross those thin, villainous lips.

"How is she?" she asked him softly so he'd feel like it was just them in on the conversation.

He shrugged. "How should I know? How's the vile, loathsome little cockroach?"

Ah. Now she got the source of his angst. "Ron, you don't know what you're talking about."

He scoffed and stood up, seething. "What I don't know is how you're still defending that arsehole! It was one thing when he turned you. You didn't mind. But he lost it with Pansy, 'Mione."

"He didn't turn her, Ron! I promise you!" she shouted, drawing the attention of the others waiting. She shot them all apologetic looks and turned her attention back to Ron.

"How do you know? Because he said so? You're shagging him so of course he must be so fucking virtuous," he said with a laugh. "Sorry to break it to you but you're not going to find his soul between his legs."

Hermione scoffed. She wasn't delusional. She knew Draco wasn't the next rising of Jesus but she also knew what she was talking about. "You think I don't know when he's lying? I'm two steps away from reading his mind. I know when he's plotting, when he's hiding something. I can feel when he has a bloody toothache. And I am telling you I believe him when he says he was only defending us from Pansy. She was already bitten, Ron. And I'm here to prove it."

Harry reached over and gave her free hand a gentle squeeze, a silent "I believe you." She smiled at him half-heartedly and continued on her mission.

"I need to see her," she announced, no room for compromise in her voice. Ginny came back with her cup of coffee at that moment and pointed towards the room at the end of the hall, the only one with a shut door.

Hermione set her still full coffee cup on the table before her and trudged on down towards that guillotine blade. She opened the door and peeked inside. It was dark except for a floor lamp in the back. The bed resembled something one might find at a Muggle hospital, at least compared to all the other wards they'd seen.

"What are you doing here?" growled two yellow eyes in the darkness. "I said no visitors!"

Hermione ducked as a pillow flew by her head. It explained why Ron was waiting outside, why he looked so broken. She wasn't letting _anyone_ see her, probably hadn't since she woke up.

"It's me, Pans. Relax. Draco sent me."

The objects stopped flying. "What does he say?"

Hermione sighed and felt around for the chair by the bed. She took a seat and fed Pansy's curiosity. "He wanted me to find out how you were. No one's told us anything. We've been locked in the criminal ward for two days. He might as well be in prison already."

Pansy nodded and Hermione took her new acquiescence to mean she wasn't mad at Draco the way Ron and the others were. Maybe she knew what she'd done or, rather, _almost_ done.

"Does he remember?" she asked timidly, fumbling with her hands in her lap. She sat up straight. Draco had once said that she didn't like sleeping stretched out, that she kept six pillows by her bed back at the dormitories.

Hermione nodded. "He said you were already shifted when you came towards the Burrow, that you were primed to attack."

It was dark but Hermione knew Pansy was crying. It was the smell of salt in the air, the feeling of dread and remorse turned corporeal.

"I don't remember," she said in a thoughtful, distance voice. "I just know I would never hurt Ron like that."

That caught Hermione a little by surprise. She expect her to say she'd never hurt the family, even Draco, but to mention Ron so exclusively and so openly with such deep remorse could only mean one thing.

"Dear God, you love him. It's not a joke."

Pansy snorted. Of course it would seem like a joke to anyone around them. "Maybe that's how it started but no. I tried to keep him away. I knew I was losing chunks of time but I did nothing so he'd never have to see me like this, like some victim or, worse, some monster."

"If Draco didn't bite you and I obviously didn't, we might have a bigger problem. How long ago did you start losing time?"

"October 16th," she answered definitively. For the second time, Hermione was taken aback by her answer.

"You know the exact date?"

She nodded and sniffed. Hermione handed her a tissue from the bedside table. "It was a Hogsmeade weekend. I visited my – and Draco's – favorite pub. It's pretty hidden so I'd planned to meet with Ron but I woke up back in my room and figured I'd just had too much to drink. I was still clothed but I don't remember having any bite marks, none that I could see anyway. God, if I'd just slept with Ron maybe he would have found it."

Hermione tried not to laugh because it was a serious issue but she managed to give a knowing nod. She leaned in closer so Pansy could see the look of pity and understanding in her eyes.

"I see. I'll do whatever I can to figure out who did this to you, okay?" she said, trying to soothe. "But you can't let Draco go down for this. They've brought up what he did during the summer. The Ministry is charging him for murder, Pans. You have to tell them you aren't pressing charges."

Pansy nodded. Hermione, feeling like her job was complete, went to stand when a strong grip wrapped around her wrist, pulling her back down. "Do you know what he did in Spain? Has he told you?" she asked, almost in a whisper.

"No, but I know he's talked to you about it."

"Listen, we're not—"

Hermione shook her head and pulled Pansy's hand off her wrist. "I get it. It's okay. I have Ron and Harry to confide in. You're his other."

Pansy formed a crease down her forehead. "It's not what you think. You know him better than I do now. He told me because he was afraid you'd only be able to see the monster, a murderer. He knew you'd understand, that it was in self-defense, but he couldn't stand it to have you see him any different, not for a second."

Something gathered in Hermione's throat, something bitter. She sat back down and took Pansy's hands in her own. For a moment, in the dark, Hermione let herself believe this little girl was Draco – that same frightened, haunted, sick spirit that had crash-landed at the Burrow that summer. So, though she wished she could be the one to wave her magic wand and cure her the way she hoped she'd done to Draco, it was not her job to cure Pansy. She had unknowingly passed the world's most sadistic torch onto another and Pansy had to be the one to let him in if she was ever to embrace this new future she'd inadvertently carved for herself.

Hermione braced herself and said, "Pansy, I need you to look at me and listen to everything I say because I do not say it lightly. You and Draco are one and the same. You have this horrid sense of selflessness based off shame and it's killing you. I know you think you're just sparing him pain but you're not. Trust me – someone who's been on the receiving end of your people's 'kindness.' You are only hurting him more by keeping him at bay. Either you man up and let him love you or you'll be this monster forever. You'll be this pathetic insect in front of me and you'll be alone. Forever. Because if you can't let someone who already loves you in, how will you ever learn to love another?"

Pansy wiped away a tear as surreptitiously as possible and nodded. After a moment of soft weeping, she announced, "Send him in." Hermione turned and left feeling no different than when she came in.

She gestured for Ron to enter and his eyes lit up with confusion and hope. He tried not to seem too hurried as he walked to the door. Pansy was still sitting up on the bed, playing with her wand like it was a baton. She was trying anything to avoid looking him in the eye. He lingered by the now-closed door, his hands behind his back like a brave soldier before his queen.

"How are you?" he spoke first, his eyes hard set and his jaw stiff. It hurt to speak, to move, when he was standing so close to her and so unable to help her. It felt like he was chaining himself to the door so he wouldn't climb atop her. Oh how he longed for her warm arms around his torso like their last night together at Hogwarts, hiding in the Room of Requirement. Now, it felt like a wall of pride was dividing the room so it felt like crossing whole continents.

"Good," she replied lamely, her eyes crinkling in pain. There was a long silence, the longest of their lives, until Pansy looked to the chair beside her bed and Ron understood the hint. The wall suddenly collapsed and he crossed the continents easily. A few horribly long moments later, he reached out for her hand on the bed and squeezed it tightly, shooting her the tiniest smile.

"We don't have to talk," he said, hoping he was doing the right thing. "I just want to be here, okay?"

She smiled and reached over to caress his cheek with her free hand. She nodded and leaned in to give him a quick peck on the lips. "Thank you," she whispered, the last words of the night.

-----

When Hermione returned to the criminal ward, Narcissa was already gone. It should have been an instant sign that something was wrong but Draco was waiting for her with such a brilliant smile and rested eyes that she didn't really care what he'd told his mother. He was sitting, a white rose in his hands. He'd transfigured it out of a tongue depressor most likely but she didn't care. She bent down and kissed him and went to sit back down when he made a noise telling her not to move.

"What is it? Why so jolly?" she asked, bringing the rose up to her nose. Yup. Smelled like wood. She chuckled softly, finding him horribly infectious. _No pun intended._

He smiled brighter, almost deviously, and took a moment to answer just to tug at her emotions further. "I'm being released."

She squealed and jumped up and down then bent to kiss him again. "We get to go home? Well, I know it's house arrest but it's still better than _this_ place."

"Yuppers," he joked, caressing her hair back from her face. He sobered quickly and remembered to asked, "Did you talk to Pansy?"

"She's not pressing charges. She agrees that she was bitten elsewhere. We think it happened at some club you both like in Hogsmeade but Draco, that's still—"

"I know," he interrupted, not wanting to dwell on reality further. "I know it's not going to get me off the hook. It's okay. We'll figure it out."

"So now what?"

He took a deep breath and looked down at the sheets over his legs, throwing them off. "I try to walk."

Hermione looked around for someone to help but it was just her, the only one awake. She hurried to the other side of the bed and let him use her shoulders for balance as he painfully stretched out his legs and stood. He held onto his side for a moment, gritting his teeth from the pain. He shook his head and fell back down.

"Dammit," he said under his breath. Hermione went to check that he hadn't aggravated his wounds but he just swatted away her hands. "I can do it. Give me a second."

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "I know I'm a brilliant healer and everything but they do know you got mauled by a werewolf two days ago, right?"

"They know," he grunted, trying to stand again. "Fucking sleeping potions. They're releasing me early to avoid dealing with the press. They think if they don't release my release date, nobody will know."

Hermione's eyes shot open. She gulped and stammered out, "The—The—The press?"

"Uh, yea. I thought you knew."

Her eyes opened wider and she took a step back into the curtain. "I haven't seen anything but sheets, bedpans, and prisoners for the last two days! How am I supposed to know anything that's going on in the world? I just saw my friends out there for the first time!"

She began to miss that brilliant smile he'd given when she walked in. Now, it just looked like he had some tragic news to give her like Crookshanks had been run over by a car or her parents were getting divorced. Her eyes opened wider as she started to understand the gravity of the situation, of what Dumbledore had said.

"They know about you," he told her, "what we are."

She knew it was serious, that it could mean the end of everything as she knew it, but she didn't let it get in the way. So, she pretended the press didn't exist and shook her head to make sure he knew her intentions as well. Pretend. Rearing its ugly head again. Oh what an expert he'd become in it.

"Matter of time, right?" she finally said, softly as though in defeat.

"We can deny it," he countered, not wanting to give in just yet.

She shook her head. "Nope. It'd only cause more trouble. Hopefully, they'll realize I really am as boring as I look and leave me be."

He didn't know how to respond without offending her in some way. They did their jobs well and pretended it was all fine. She shook it all off and enthusiastically helped him stand up. Once he practiced standing, it was just a literal step away from walking. By the time they were ready to leave, it was the early morning of December 21st. Draco was getting dressed in the clothes Harry had brought for him.

"PLAID?" she heard him screech on the other side of the curtain. She pulled it open and found him standing there in his usual blue boxers and a wide open shirt two sizes too big and bright yellow/white plaid. "Are you serious? Is Potter high? I look like a gay lumberjack."

She snorted and covered her mouth to hide the laughter. "I think you look… dashing. Very Village People. No no. More like one very large, used Q-tip."

He narrowed his eyes at her but buttoned his shirt nonetheless and put on the little cap Moody had dropped by. All his clothes were at Grimmauld Place and nobody wanted to risk being followed there. They – meaning Draco, Hermione, and a merry troupe of Aurors – were going to take a floo to a nearby safe house before flying, invisibly, to Grimmauld Place. Like the Burrow, it was now warded against Apparition and floos, which was only sane considering the increasingly larger werewolf population within the Ministry.

Hermione took the time to look off at the now empty bed by the window at the end of the ward, the bed once belonging to Lucius Malfoy. She wondered if she had dreamt it, if it had been a figment of her imagination, but she wasn't insane. She couldn't deny herself the truth so easily. And she couldn't tell Draco – she was dead set on it, not an ounce of remorse in her decision. She turned back to him as he slipped on some plain black trousers and waited for her to point the way. He hadn't exactly been conscious when they'd first dragged him in. She took his hand and they went mainly undetected through the passageways. They met Shacklebolt at the front desk, as instructed.

"Why aren't we going out the back?" asked Hermione. "I mean, if we're going through all this trouble to be incognito."

Shacklebolt looked especially apologetic and admitted, "All the entrances and exits have been covered, I'm afraid. This was the only way we could properly secure a coach."

"I don't understand," said Hermione.

He pointed off to the front doors in the distance. That's when the world went to Hell.

A crowd of reporters awaited them, bustling against ropes. Flashes went off everywhere and smoke riddled the only passage out of the hospital. Lights, screaming… it was a media frenzy. Draco's throat closed just by looking at it. They took a few steps forward after Shacklebolt, hand in sweaty hand, and paused before facing the million questions and quills flying in their direction.

They turned to each other and whispered at the same time, defeat clear in their voices, "Oh crap."

-----

**References:** "…you're not going to find his soul between his legs." – from "Coconut Skins" by Damien Rice, official song for this fanfic.

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_Christmas dinner coming soon plus a special NC-17 scene that I'll have to post elsewhere. It's _that_ dirty._  
**Reviews are better than emotional silences.**

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	12. Look Who's Coming to Dinner

**CHAPTER TWELVE:** _Look Who's Coming to Dinner_

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_Ok, so the big debate is apparently about when Draco and Hermione are going to stop being total hypocrites and actually sit down and talk about all the stuff that's bothering them. I've had some really nice debates with my friends and readers over this. The point of this story was that all these lies are what's really tearing them apart – not the trial or Blaise or Voldemort – even though they think they're doing it for what's best for the other._ (Hence the name _**Lies, Loyalty**__, & Hermione Granger_.)

_Hermione becomes very hypocritical here. I mean, she spends so much time convincing herself she's turning Draco into a better man when just look at all she's hidden from him. His father, the sleeping potion, the effects of their "bond," Snape's involvement in everything, the fact that she's lying to Dumbledore about Seneca… It's going to get to a point where things kind of blow up in her face and she's going to have to win Draco's trust back. Hope that clears it up a bit and I LOVE that you're looking into more than just plot. _

-----

"Mother!" called Draco as they walked into Grimmauld Place. The invisibility faded quickly after they entered, probably due to the myriad wards. "Mother, I have to talk to you!"

Narcissa squealed joyously in the distance and came running to meet them in the entryway wearing a green and white apron covered in flour. Draco put his arms out in front of him, telling her to keep her distance. "I'm so glad you're home!" she said, her hands over her heart. "I'm making dinner."

Draco and Hermione looked at each other as though sharing a silent warning. "You, Mum? Dinner? Are you serious?"

A slightly aggravated Mrs. Weasley came up behind her and, with a weary smile, corrected, "She's 'helping' me."

Everyone tried to hold back the snickers. Somehow, though Narcissa was only helping, she had managed to filthy herself up sevenfold. Hermione pulled off her scarf and offered to Narcissa, "I'd love to help, if you'd like, while you and Draco talk."

Both women shook their heads. "You two go get cleaned up first. You smell like bedpans. Go on," said Mrs. Weasley, shooing them up the stairs. She turned her attention back to the half-dozen Aurors coming up behind Draco and started asking if they had any food allergies.

They got halfway up the stairs when Hermione suddenly stopped and called down to Mrs. Weasley, "Excuse me? Which one's _my_ room?"

"Don't be silly," said Draco suddenly, having figured this out as soon as he was told he'd be on house arrest. "You're staying with me."

"But—" she began, looking down at a very sour-faced Molly Weasley for collaboration.

He put up a hand to stop her. "You're my alibi if anything happens. The whole 'I was alone in my room' thing is not going to fly at trial."

"Excuses, excuses," growled Narcissa, waving them off dismissively. "And get out of that horrid shirt!"

They took it as a go-ahead and skidded up the stairs. Before they went up to his room, they passed a large bedroom with two beds on opposite sides. Ron's Cannon posters were tacked up and there were boxes near the door with a few of his other things. Harry's were considerably less since they couldn't go back to Privet Drive. It seemed they were still relocating from the Burrow and it made Hermione feel horribly guilty over that unauthorized floo. She made a note to apologize to Mr. Weasley later.

Draco pushed in the doors to his room and bowed, gesturing with a sweeping arm for her to come in. She laughed softly and entered, dropping her scarf on the first chair she saw. The room was twice the size of theirs back at Hogwarts and much drearier. It smelled of Draco though, before the hospital, so it made her smile as she walked about. The bathroom was nearest to the entrance and two windows, both covered, were behind the large queen bed in the middle. The walls had striped black and gray wallpaper, obviously very old, and chessboard-tile floors. The bedspread, a deep red with white canopy, stood out amidst the dreariness. Narcissa was an eclectic decorator, to put it mildly.

"I don't want us getting in trouble," she said, sitting on the bed to take off her shoes. "I can easily sleep in the next room. I could hear you if anything happened."

He ignored her completely, his mind scheming elsewhere. "I don't like this. Something's going on. My mother never cooks. Never. The little witch is probably planning how she's going to decorate my space at the family mausoleum already."

She shook her head in disbelief. "Are you serious? Maybe she's just happy to have you home and this is her way of showing it. Doesn't always have to be a life-or-death scenario, love. Besides, we have a few days to ourselves. Shouldn't we be enjoying it?"

He ignored her again and went to turn on the shower, stripping off his plaid shirt on the way. She watched the way he limped about and wondered if there was something she could do for the pain. At least, she hoped it was just pain. She could never be sure if her healing charms and spells were working perfectly. He never complained.

She watched him struggle taking off the sleeves completely so she told him to wait and went to help him finish taking off his shirt. He went to undo his pants when they both realized she was staring.

"What is it? It's not like you haven't seen this before," he joked, kicking his pants into the corner of the large bathroom. He knew he couldn't bend down to get it just yet. The bandages around his torso didn't allow for much movement.

"Nothing," she replied, her voice so small it was barely audible to anyone else. "I guess it hasn't really hit how hurt you were until now, away from that awful hospital."

He still ignored her worries, because they knew it was utterly pointless to dwell on this with all that was going on, and started undoing her blouse. She slapped his hands away. "Hey hey hey! You're my fiancée, remember? I have equal right to those," he complained, pointing at her breasts.

She rolled her eyes, looking furious. "I don't come with dowry and I'm not your sex slave, Draco Malfoy! Why do I feel like I have to keep repeating myself? Stop calling me your fiancée! It's _cruel_!"

Cruel, cruel, cruel. He didn't get it. "What's so bloody cruel? It's a nice thought. A very nice, distant thought."

She bought his smirk and settled for swatting him on the hands again as he tried to undress her. "Yes," she admitted. "I suppose. It's just cruel to think of something that might never be, now isn't it?"

He shook his head and smiled brightly, erasing all of her thoughts instantly. He didn't want her dwelling on the amount of reporters waiting for them outside that hospital. Not even Harry got this sort of attention.

"Don't want to get your hopes up, _Mrs_. Malfoy?" he said smoothly, bringing her to him by the waist.

_Cocky bastard_, she thought. _Cocky, maniacal bastard._

"Don't call me that!" she spat. "I am not your mother."

He grimaced and she knew she'd succeeded in killing the mood. Never compare yourself to your boyfriend's mother. It's eerie how usually the two resemble each other. Lily and Ginny, for example, could be twins. And, it was enough to bring down any sort of excitement in Draco's boxers which he still hadn't taken off. Hermione realized he probably couldn't. Pants were heavy and fell down by themselves once unbuttoned and unzipped. Boxers clung.

She sighed and giving him a look saying, "_This isn't a sexual thing_," she pulled his boxers down and started undressing his bandage as he watched her with ever more lustful eyes.

"You're healed up fine, Draco," she said, running her gentle fingers over the scars. She threw the bandages into the sink and started undressing herself.

"Joining me after all, aye?"

She smirked and stepped into the shower, shutting the door behind them. She helped lather him up, head to toe, and he watched as she washed herself. He scooted out from under the stream and watched her still with that look he got when he watched her sleep. It was a sort of desperate desire mixed with admiration.

"I love you," he said randomly, causing her to turn around and stop washing the shampoo out of her hair.

"Where'd that come from?"

With the saddest eyes she'd seen from him in a while, he crossed the little shower and wrapped his good arm around her waist, pressing her against him. She squealed at his force but couldn't tear her eyes away from him. "I love you," he said again, more forcibly. "Marry me."

At that, she started laughing hysterically into his chest. He realized what he'd just said and burst out laughing too. "What the fuck was that?" she asked, holding onto her ribs to stop the pain of laughter.

"Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean that. I think those damn nurses spiked my potions."

It just made Hermione laugh even harder. She reached for him, hugged his bare body for balance, and – lifting herself up onto the tips of her toes – rested her chin on his shoulder. "We've known each other six years, Draco. I know it feels like a lifetime but we're still in school. Look at everything around us."

"If you said you were my fiancée, they'd stop coming between us. You'd even get to visit me in prison."

Why oh why did he have to bring up prison? It only trailed behind it a series of worries and dangerous question. "So it's all a convenience thing? Is that it?" she spat, pushing him away.

He rolled his eyes and took a step closer so her back was to the wall. "You know what I mean. Stop making a fuss. I love you. I want to marry you someday, many years from now, but if we don't get a chance, I guess I just want you there with me while I still have you."

It took her a second to get what he meant. How could she be in prison with him? And then, it hit her. "You mean you don't want me going off to find someone else while you're in prison, yes?"

He went to object but realized that had been exactly what he meant and closed his mouth again. He looked at her apologetically. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"No, no. Thank you for telling me. I wouldn't though, you know. Werewolves kind of mate for life so even if you're a total disgrace and end up at Azkaban, I'd still bloody love you, you idiot!" she scolded, her tone increasingly sarcastic until she smacked him in the back of the head.

"Stop hitting me! I'm wounded, woman!"

"Stop being an idiot and deserving it!" she shouted back, returning to the state of her hair so she wouldn't have to face him anymore. "Yes, Draco, it'd be much easier to pretend we were engaged but it wouldn't be fair. I want to marry you for _real_ one day, not for pretend and not because a valley-full of reporters coerced us into it. I don't ever want to find anyone else so I'd really like it if my first marriage _wasn't_ a sham."

"It wouldn't a sham! You love me! You admit you want to marry me!"

She spun back around, whipping him in the face with her hair and covering him with shampoo bubbles. She laughed and scooped it away so it wouldn't get in his eyes. He looked like a little kid in his bathtub with a little rubber ducky. He always made her feel so horribly grown-up in comparison. "I do want to," she admitted, her voice considerably softer. "How about this… I have a proposal for _you_."

"For me?" he asked coyly, pushing her back against the wall.

She hissed at the cold tile against her back but continued nonetheless. "Yes. If we win your case and you don't get sent to jail, I'll marry you."

"Is this some incentive to—"

"Yes," she interrupted shamelessly. Her expression told him she was deadly serious.

He raised an eyebrow, his business eyebrow. "You'd be my fiancée for real? Even wear the real Malfoy ring and put out a bulletin in the papers and go ballroom shopping with Mother?"

She laughed despite herself and nodded. "If you live, you know. I'm not marrying your ghost either."

He smiled and bent to kiss her neck the way she liked, biting just below her ear. "It's a deal," he mumbled into her skin and let her finished getting showered.

They dressed and headed down to dinner some time later. The dining room had been expanded to fit the Aurors and Weasleys as well. Tonks, Lupin, and Hermione's parents weren't set to arrive until Christmas Eve. She managed to get her apology in before everyone sat down and Mr. Weasley basically waved her off because he hadn't believed her about the mate thing. No one had really understood how serious it was until now. It was obvious by the way they stared at them before dinner when they could pretend to be distracted by their food. All they could do then was stare like the two were some crazy enigma all of a sudden. Draco rolled his eyes and ignored him, conversing quietly with Kingsley.

Hermione's mind was a little too preoccupied staring at Ron, Harry, and Ginny's empty seats. She'd asked and was told they were still at the hospital but it was getting ridiculous. They'd been waiting an hour for them, just staring at empty plates like morons. Mrs. Weasley especially seemed to be shooting daggers at Draco for betraying her separate-room policy. She was simply too polite to say anything since Narcissa had given the go-ahead.

An hour and fifteen minutes after Draco and Hermione had sat down, they heard the sounds of pitter-patter on the roof and Ginny and Harry's argument coming down the stairs from the attic. The others didn't hear them till they were coming down the stairs, their fury matching their hunger. The cause of their argument seemed to have been lost a while ago because now they were fighting over Harry's inability to commit or some such nonsense.

"Whoa!" shouted Mr. Weasley over them, standing up. "You two! Be silent or tell me where Ron is."

"He'll be down in a few minutes," sneered Ginny. "With his guest."

"Guest?" echoed Narcissa, her eyes lighting up. "Is he bringing a date? Oh my, I'll have to set another place."

She pulled out her wand and with a quick flick, the place was set. Hermione rolled her eyes. How terribly difficult witch life was. "What guest?" she asked. "Not—"

"Oh yea," answered Harry, a smug look on his face that Hermione couldn't quite place the source of.

Then, she heard the pitter-patter again, this time of heels followed by the unearthly scent of St. Mungo's hospital and Pansy Parkinson. Hermione and Draco tried not to gag on it. No one should wear that much perfume, much less another werewolf unless her nose was broken. Draco tried to think back on it but he didn't remember breaking it though he did hit her head pretty hard. Nope, she was just insane.

Hermione and Draco shared weary looks before the new couple came down the stairs silently. They didn't seem to be touching much either. They stood a good arm's length apart with hands folded behind their backs. Pansy's hair was brushed and her eyes weren't puffy like Hermione had seen that morning. And to top it all off, she was wearing one of Ron's shirts as a dress.

_Oh fuck_, thought Draco, and probably a whole lot of people in that room.

"Uh, Mum, Dad, Ministry people…" introduced Ron. "This is my friend Pansy. Her parents are still in South America or something somewhere so I invited her to dinner."

Everyone sort of scanned around for the proper way to look or respond but everyone's faces were stuck in shock mode. Wasn't this the girl that had tried to attack the Weasleys? Wasn't she a Slytherin and former fuck buddy of Voldemort's new errand boy? Hadn't she brought the Ministry on Draco's head and gotten him on trial for murder? Wasn't she his ex as well and thus an instant enemy in Hermione's book?

"Of course," said Mrs. Weasley slowly, standing beside her husband. "Why don't you take a seat, dear? We set one out of you."

"Thank you," she said in a tiny voice, looking at her feet. "We're all starving."

Harry and Ginny had already sat down across from Draco and Hermione and gestured for them to sit too. Narcissa announced for them to dig in and the uncomfortable silence began. The house echoed their gulps and plate-scraping and knife-clinking and general awkward shuffles in seats. The Aurors who only had a broad idea of what going on seemed to still look around for an explanation. It was such a contrast from the lively, vibrant house Draco had walked into this afternoon.

_There she goes again, sucking the life out of the room_, thought Draco. _I swear that girl only knows how to suck and swallow._

Hermione giggled beside him though they didn't know why. She just felt she must. The silence continued until dessert when Moody stood up and cleared his throat unnecessarily. Everyone dropped their forks, their eyes begging a distraction from their plates. "I have an announcement to make," he boomed.

Narcissa's eyes opened unusually wide and she replied, "Alastor, don't you think maybe we should wait for another time to—"

"Narcissa and I are engaged," he said over her voice. "Just thought you should know." The silence swept away again, nearly knocking Draco off his seat. Harry dropped his water glass but nobody noticed because they were all staring at Draco, waiting for his reply.

When five minutes passed and nobody talked or moved, Mr. Weasley decided he should take the lead and stood. "I'd like to be the first to offer my congratulations," he said honestly.

"Hear hear," said his wife. The Aurors and Ginny and the others mumbled it into their glasses but Draco just stared open mouthed at Moody. Hermione reached for his hand under the table, gripping it tightly and pulling on his arm for him to speak.

"Are you bloody kidding me?" he screeched. "That was the most horrible wedding announcement ever! You have no flair, no panache! Honestly, man, I shouldn't give you my blessing on that alone."

Hermione and Narcissa knew that he couldn't be too angry if he was cracking jokes and relaxed a little. The Aurors had drawn their wands under the table, anticipating a fight. They'd all known Moody for years and by reputation and they weren't blind. Moody didn't reply to Draco, unsure of his feelings on the matter.

Ron couldn't take it anymore and, in a fit of adrenaline, shouted, "Pansy and I have been secretly dating for about two months. I'm in love with her and I don't care what she is!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Not you too," he groaned at the manner Ron had shouted instead of the news itself. It was all old news to him to him anyway.

"I don't remember!" yelled Pansy beside Ron, still staring down at her plate. Hermione had gone from the guillotine to a gauntlet in a single day. "I don't remember being a werewolf or attacking the house or Draco and I apologize!"

Harry cleared his throat and stood as well. "I don't care about any of these dramas. As long as Voldemort is tearing up at Draco's traitorous ass, I can sleep well at night for the first time in years!"

"I hate that you're sleeping in the same room!" said Mrs. Weasley a bit more sheepishly. "All of you! It's just not proper, less you're married."

"I hate peas!" confessed Ginny, shooting an apologetic look at her mother. "And, I've been teaching myself how to play Quidditch for years by stealing my brothers' brooms from the tool shed.

"I hate peas too!" added Mr. Weasley in a much lower voice. "You really don't have to put them on _everything_, dear."

Everyone started to chuckle. It was getting ridiculous. Hermione didn't smile though because her heart was riddled with horrors and fear she desperately wished to confess. She abandoned Draco's hand under the table, took her napkin off her lap, and stood too. Everyone stopped laughing because they could tell her problems were serious, her confession absolute.

"I want to confess too," she said in a normal tone of voice. Everyone had silent again. She decided to go with the most pertinent offense. "It's my fault the family nearly got attacked."

-----

**Reviews make my day. **


	13. Performance Anxiety

**CHAPTER 13:** _Performance Anxiety_

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The room was silent, except for Draco's raucous laughter. He cackled by her thigh for a good two minutes. She couldn't get a word in. Annoyed, she sat down and waited, cross-armed, for Draco to stop.

"Hermione, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Come on, then. Give us the story. I'm dying to see how you've managed to feel guilty about _Pansy_ attacking the family. Seriously. Go on!" By the end, he had gone from laughter to angry shouting.

"Draco, don't mock me," she said softly. "I took a sleeping potion! I should have been keeping watch. It's why I didn't wake up right away when Pansy was nearby, why I couldn't feel her like I felt her back at Hogwarts. It's why you got hurt so badly, why I didn't hear you call for help..."

Everyone watched, enthused, as he reached up and caressed away the slow-flowing tears. Her voice had started to falter. To the adults who had never seen them interact at lunch or at school, this was a phenomenon. This was proof that Draco was a kind, lovesick boy beneath all the snarky remarks. If they had ever doubted the strength of their connection, it was strangely obvious now. Even Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Pansy were slightly shocked to see him drop his defenses so quickly and thoroughly. For a moment, they wondered what had happened in that hospital. What was happening even now before their eyes?

"You didn't hear me because I didn't call, Hermione. There wasn't time. I left you behind, even after all you tell me about letting you in, and I'm sorry. But it's not your fault and you don't have anything to confess," he explained sweetly, tilting her chin up towards him with his long index finger.

She was having trouble looking him in the eyes. She didn't want him to know all that she held secret. She didn't want him to know about his father or about Snape's true allegiances or Seneca… So she pulled away much too quickly. It looked wrong, like she hadn't accepted his apology. Everyone knew there was more to the story and Draco thought he knew what it was.

"There's more. I think it's my turn to confess," he said, standing. He took a deep breath and set down his napkin on the table. He didn't look anyone in the eye, not even Hermione, so his empty plate was suddenly very interesting. "I was unable to turn back as quickly as I once did after fighting off Pansy. Hermione experienced something similar at the manor all those months ago. I'm starting to worry that the more we change, the harder it's going to be to change back. I'm terrified that those Death Eaters we saw die at Hotel Gravita were not the Dark Lord's failed experiments but rather our eventual condition."

Hermione shut her eyes, covered her mouth with her hand, and started shivering. Draco sat back down and turned his attention to his hands in his lap. Ron made a whistling noise, pointing out the heaviness of his statement. He, Harry, and Ginny still had the disfigured faces of those men burned into their memories. It made Ginny choke on her own saliva and she found herself hiding her face in Harry's shoulder.

Narcissa uncrossed her arms and stood. "Dear God," said Moody, eyeing her expression carefully. "What else have you to confess? Do you dislike carrots? Were you a man once? I secretly remind you of your father? What could possibly follow _that_ statement?"

She seemed peeved, more and more each second. "No, you moron! I was going to say – if you don't mind me speaking in my own bloody house – that I agree with Draco and that this is quite possibly the most horrendous engagement announcement _ever_. You are all awful, awful people. Did _nobody_ care I was getting married? Honestly! Of all those confessions, ours was the only one that brought any sort of happiness into this house and you all simply disregard it. Do you simply prefer to feel like crap every day? Is it more satisfying?!"

Draco chuckled softly, hoarsely, lifting his eyes off his lap for the first time. "I cared, Mother," he said in the same eerily normal voice.

She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. "Well?"

"Well what?" he asked, not liking her expectant tone.

"Do you approve, son?!" she screeched, slamming her hands on the table. Everyone watched, amused. Of all the confessions, even the peas, this seemed the most trivial and yet, Narcissa was taking it so seriously.

Draco looked at her for a moment, licking his lips as though readying himself to speak. Hermione rolled her eyes because she knew he was just stalling for suspense. He liked having the whole room's eyes on him, liked the attention and the power. He knew he could lighten the mood or kill it permanently with a single word.

He finally parted his lips and answered, "You don't need my approval, Mother. I would never stand in the way of your happiness, just as I know you'd never stand in the way of mine and Hermione's."

Ron, Harry, Ginny, and Pansy all snapped to look at Hermione accusingly. The whole room understood his secret message. He had asked Hermione to marry him, or he would. It was inevitable, they knew. Any sort of denial concerning the longevity of their relationship had been stricken from their minds long ago, but it was still a harsh reminder. It was very easy to think of Draco and Hermione together for years to come, fighting as they do now every for the right to be together. It was another to think of them publically declaring their love, having children, moving into a castle together far away. It was too hard to consider a life without Voldemort threatening them at every moment. It was too hard to consider a life past _Hogwarts_.

Narcissa gulped and nodded. "I understand. I don't think you'd let me, would you?"

He smirked. "Of course I wouldn't. And I'm very happy for you both, Mum."

Narcissa let out a laugh of relief and looked to Moody, who seemed to be smiling. They couldn't be totally sure. His face sometimes wrinkled in strange ways. He nodded once at Draco and gestured for Narcissa to sit back down.

"Alright then," said Moody with the same authority Lucius once had at the Manor. "If we're all done giving each other nightmares, I invite you all to sit and talk with us in the living room with some music. Otherwise, you are free to retire to your rooms with the promise that I and the other Aurors will investigate all of these concerns to the fullest extent. Tomorrow. Tonight, we sleep in peace. Christmas is near and I will not have worries in our house on Christmas."

Everyone agreed and went on their way. Draco and Hermione were the last to leave, somewhat unable to look at each other and too tired to stand on unsteady feet.

"Are we all right?" asked Draco softly, both staring at their plates as they disappeared before them and the table was cleared instantly.

Hermione nodded. "I think I need some music right now," she whispered, still avoiding his gaze. She stood with much trouble and a heavy heart and extended her hand out to him. "Are you coming?"

He smiled sadly and took her hand, following her to the living room where they cuddled up before the fireplace. Hermione didn't read. Draco didn't do homework or even speak. They just watched the fire dance in each other's arms and worried silently.

-----

They couldn't go out for security reasons so they mostly lingered in the living room or read up in their rooms. The Aurors were kind and let them roam around the house without issue. Hermione had promised to watch Draco and nobody doubted their intentions anymore. They weren't apart for longer than ten minutes the entire holiday but they barely talked anymore. To Ron and Pansy, who seemed to look upon them with curiosity – looking for role models for their relationship more than anything – it seemed odd how they could just look at each other and understand any silent command. When Draco was hungry, he looked to Hermione and she led him to the kitchen instantly, making him exactly what he'd desired. The others wondered if even they knew they were doing it but it had become most obvious come Christmas Eve.

Narcissa had asked Draco to move his broom out of the kitchen and he lingered to talk Pansy, Ron, and Harry so he hadn't seen Hermione dress upstairs. Though he was in the kitchen, he suddenly stopped in mid-conversation and turned towards the stairs. A minute later, Hermione walked down the stairs in a long red satin dress, her hair in shiny, brown waves. Her lips and cheeks were reddened and her eyes made-up, her feet clad in strappy sandals of the same color. Her skin looked glistening, not just pale, and her eyes lit up when she saw him standing at the doorway into the living room with his hands in his jacket pockets.

He wore a black dinner jacket over a pale blue t-shirt and dark blue jeans, which only made him look blonder but dashing as ever. He looked increasingly casual the longer he was with Hermione but she knew it was that he was foreseeing the worst. He really didn't care about uncomfortable appearances when he knew he might be spending the rest of his life in black and white stripes and ugly, rusting shackles.

"You look beautiful," he whispered from across the room, waiting for her to come to him. They hadn't really kissed since the confessional dinner, hadn't slept together in even longer because of his injuries, but when he saw her standing there with her hair shiny and her eyes lit with love, he crossed the room and crushed his lips to hers in front of a houseful of Aurors. His arm wrapped around her waist and he hungrily deepened the kiss like they hadn't seen each other in years, bending her back slightly with the force of his lust.

Harry walked in from the kitchen to see what was happening, saw them, and groaned. He turned right back around on his heel, his ears red like he'd just walked in on them having sex. That red dress didn't exactly leave much to the imagination and he'd just seen enough tongue to last him a decade. Moody cleared his throat twice and Draco pulled away, both utterly out of breath.

"My God," said Tonks, who had just arrived alongside Lupin in their usual attire. "It's like watching monkeys at the zoo."

"No no," said Fred and George at the same time. Fred continued, "Monkeys are too high up the food chain. They're more like those dogs going at it on the front porch."

"Maybe bunnies," added George, clinking his champagne glass with his twin's.

The Aurors laughed but Draco and Hermione didn't see anyone else. Their eyes were locked, golden with lust, for the first time since Hogwarts and they didn't care who was in the room. Hermione's parents had arrived that morning and were luckily upstairs. Moody had escorted them himself and they'd needed a few minutes to recuperate after the small flying lesson.

Mrs. Weasley's voice boomed throughout the house, calling them to dinner. Everyone scurried to the ridiculously long dinner table. Ron, who was used to his stuffy but warm little house, instantly said, "I wouldn't want to see someone pass the salt across this bloody thing."

The kids laughed and took their seats. This time, there were no confessions though Mr. Weasley kept making remarks about the lack of peas on his plate and how it was the best Christmas ever. Draco and Hermione looked at each other and snickered, sharing a silent, private joke. Ron shook his head and sighed. He leaned into Pansy and whispered, "In case you can read my mind and choose not to tell me, I apologize in advance for all those daydreams about the Bahamas, the hammocks, and you in a yellow polka-dot bikini."

Draco and Hermione snorted into their forks. Pansy laughed and replied just as softly, "I don't know about telepathy but we do have really super hearing so _shhh_."

Ron reddened a little. He wasn't used to being seen as a sex object. Ever.

After dessert, everyone moved to the couches by the fireplace and lounged about, stuffed. Mr. and Mrs. Granger were laughing it up with the Weasleys so they didn't notice nor mind Hermione sitting on Draco's lap on the floor by the coffee table. Ron and Harry were playing chess while Ginny and Pansy tried to have a conversation without threatening each other. Fred and George watched, chuckling at the awkwardness of it all.

Around 8:00 p.m., Hermione was the first to excuse herself and went up to the Christmas tree in the entrance to pick up a little green box. She sat back down beside Draco on the floor and hugged her satin-covered knees, placing the box in his palm shyly. He could wrap his fist around it, it was so small.

"What's this?" he asked, pulling at the bow. She shrugged like it was no big deal. Under the wrapping was a black velvet box. He opened it slowly. A lot of the laughter had died though not completely as the room watched their interaction.

Inside the box was a ring. A signet ring. He turned to her for an explanation. She smiled and answered, "I felt bad about taking yours. You don't realize it but you always reach for that finger, feeling about for the weight of it. But, since your father's crest comes with so much family baggage, I had one made with a snake wrapped around a griffin instead. I dunno. You don't have to wear it. I just wanted you to have a new crest for your new family."

He stared at her, the ring in his palm, with parted lips. She looked at her knees, feeling his eyes on her cheek and neck. She didn't want to look at him and feel what could spell disaster. But he didn't say anything. With a heavy sigh, he reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a simple gray envelope.

"Here," he said. She opened it with the same cautious speed he'd used. It was sealed in golden wax, no emblem. If he'd gotten her a check or something stupidly aristocratic, she'd have a heart attack. But no. It was just another picture of white peacocks running around the lawn of a gorgeous white palace with enormous yellow bushes, a drawbridge, four towers, and tall, thin pines at the entrance.

"Oh," she said, smiling. She brought his face to her lips and kissed his cheek. "It's lovely. I'll add it to my collection."

Fred and George looked outraged. "Are you serious?" asked Ron, who could see down at the gifts clearly. "She welcomes you to the family with a silver signet ring and you get her a _single_ picture of some _birds_?"

Pansy covered her mouth to hide the chuckles. She snatched the picture from Hermione's hands and laughed. "Draco, you didn't!" she squealed. "That's so lovely!"

Everyone looked confused. If anyone was going to be materialistic, it would be Pansy. "What? What do you mean?" said Ron.

She handed Hermione the photo and tapped on the back of it. An address in Denmark was written in gold ink. "We still don't understand," said Ginny.

"He didn't get a picture of the place. He got her the bloody mansion," explained Pansy.

Any still distant laughter died completely. Hermione snapped to look at Draco, who was smiling warily. He had no idea how she was going to react. He knew she hated extravagances. "You got me a palace?" she asked in amazement, her eyes huge. "You got me a fucking palace in _Denmark_? Are you insane?"

Narcissa smiled brightly on the other side of the room. "It used to be a summer home for us. He had me move all the peacocks from all our houses over. We cleared out all the nearby zoos and whatnot. It's not very big but he said you'd like it that way. It's there for you any time you'd like to visit, in _your_ name."

Hermione's mouth fell open. She brought Draco into her, hugging him and burying her face in his neck. He chuckled and caressed her back over the satin dress. She was so smooth, so soft. Her spine felt like it was slowly catching fire under his hands. Ron took the picture from the floor and started passing it around as people ooh-ed and ah-ed.

Hermione moved back and announced to the room, "I think I'm pretty tired. I'm going to head up to bed now. Goodnight, everyone."

Harry, Fred, and George snickered. Draco watched her climb up the stairs, smirking. "Uh, yes," he said, yawning dramatically and standing. "I'm going to head up to bed too. 'Night!"

-----

Draco chuckled nervously and closed the door behind him because he knew what was going to happen. Everyone in the house knew what was going to happen. So, he lingered a little too long on the doorknob, his back to her, regretting ever coming upstairs but finding it almost impossible not to. She cleared her throat and pulled down the straps on her dress, letting it gather by her ankles. He turned around slowly, tugging at his shirt collar which now seemed to be choking him.

She gulped and stepped forward, shoulders back and head high. His eyes wandered down her body and he suddenly forgot how to breathe. She thought she was going to start shivering but she only felt heat rising up her arms and legs, reaching and reddening her cheeks. He let a slow moan escape the ball of dread gathering at his throat. He cursed lightly which only made her smile. Their eyes begged – hers for him to take the lead, his for the dress to go back up.

He wanted to, of course, but it was the knowledge that his mother was downstairs listening in, that this was going to be the last time if he gets sent to jail, the possibility of death and pain and… His hands froze at his collar. He sighed and stepped forward but she just stood and waited for him to take her.

"Hermione," he began, shaking his head, "we don't have to do this."

Suddenly, she felt truly naked for the first time. She put herself out there, practically begged for his body, and he denies her? Her mind was blank, frozen. He walked past her and set his watch and new signet ring down on the bedside table. She continued to face the door, completely taken aback.

"What?" she finally asked, spinning around. "Why the hell not? Draco, this might be the last time we have to—"

"I know!" he shouted. Of course he knew. "But we don't have to."

She looked down at her red heels. "Yea, I guess we don't," she replied softly, obviously hurt.

He shut his eyes tight and stopped pushing back his dinner jacket. "Look, 'Mione, it's not that I don't want you."

"Then what?" she snapped, bending down to pick up her dress. "Tell me then. What has suddenly changed that you can't touch me, that you don't want me?"

He bit the inside of his cheek, keeping himself quiet. He just looked at her, stared, useless.

"What changed, Draco?!" she shouted, her voice squeaking with wounded rage.

"I'm scared!" he shouted in reply. She took a step back. Her furrowed brow and wide eyes begged him to continue but he couldn't look at her. "I'm _terrified_ of—of hurting you, ok?"

Her shoulders fell and the crease down her forehead was erased in a matter of moments. She rubbed at her eyes, never more tired, and tossed the dress onto the ledge of the large closed window on her left. "Why? You could never hurt me. You know that."

She said it but she didn't really believe it. There was a chance he could hurt her. There was a chance he could kill her. They always thought he couldn't hurt her if she was just as strong as he was, if she was another werewolf, but the incident at the Burrow made them question everything. What if he lost control the way Pansy often did?

"You know that's not true anymore, 'Mione. Every time we change, the monster gets stronger. I've changed more than any of us. I was one of the first lab rats. The wall is getting very thin and I just don't know if I can push it back," he explained as best he could. There was more, of course. There was the situation, the stress… but this was at the center of it all and it was something she understood too well because she too feared the monster brewing inside them.

She stopped right in front of him and lifted his chin so they'd be eye to eye. She smiled the way lovers do, with unconditional fearlessness. It was a façade, they both knew, but he wouldn't deny her sentiments. "Hey," she whispered, resting her forehead to his. "I love you. I trust you."

He gulped but didn't pull away. "We can't."

She smirked. "We shouldn't. Doesn't mean we can't," she answered quickly, seductively. She didn't want him to have any time to wonder and reconsider. Her hands caressed up his sleeves and, upon reaching his collar, pulled him in for a slow kiss. He barely responded so she bit lovingly at his bottom lip, pulling softly. She pushed the jacket back over his shoulders onto the floor and he allowed himself to kiss her back. The longer they kissed – it felt like a year in a minute – the more confident he felt to continue.

He grew impatient as her hands penetrated the rim of his blue t-shirt and caressed up his chest. "Oh God, what are you doing to me?" he moaned against her lips.

She snickered and he twirled them around, falling atop her on the bed to better give in to his desires. She lifted her arms up over her head as he kissed down her body towards her legs, removing her shoes as he kissed her thighs. She giggled and it only drove him further. He literally ripped off his trousers and climbed back atop her, settling himself between her hips.

He let out a low growl, deep within his chest, and his breathing sped up so much that Hermione couldn't tell whether it was lust or fear anymore. Then, the moan turned into a feral growl and he pulled back, leaving her there atop the tussled sheets with bruised lips. He raked his long fingers through his hair and paced by the foot of the bed.

With a deep, disappointed sigh, she propped herself up onto her elbows and watched him move. "Crap, crap, crap," he recited, trying to will the erection away. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm—"

"Stop!" she shouted and he paused in mid-step to turn to her. Was she angry with him, he pondered. She had never been angry with him over something like this but then again, nothing like this had ever happened before.

"Don't look at me like that," he begged.

"This is ridiculous, Draco!"

She sounded angry and it made Draco want to quiver up into a little ball and die. It was one thing to be angry at him for doing something ridiculous or dangerous. He did so often. It was another to be angry at his performance in bed. She might as well have punched him in the stomach and left him there naked on the floor. Hell, she might as well be Pansy and the thought made him want to vomit.

She sat up and patted the bed beside her. He stepped cautiously over and did as instructed. "Do you want this?" she asked, perfectly serious like this was the greatest decision of their lives. In truth, it only served to distract them from the dangers of the trial, of the real world outside that room, as it should be. The dangers were not allowed to penetrate the bedroom.

He gave a sad laugh. "Are you kidding?"

She stood up and put her hands on her waist. "Good. On your back then."

"What?" She rolled her eyes and pushed him back down. She walked over to her bags and rifled through, humming to herself. Draco smirked and watched her intently as she pulled out a pair of chains he knew too well. He chuckled as she wrapped them around his wrist onto the headboard. "I can't believe you're doing this."

She smiled deviously and straddled him, positioning herself so he slowly entered her. He arched his back and rested his head back, still unsure this was happening. That was, until she bent forward and started biting at his neck. The growl returned and before she could even raise her hips so she could go down on him again, his eyes turned bright gold and he bore his teeth.

She only laughed and whispered into his ear, "Do whatever you want, honey. Growl, moan, scream… You're mine for the rest of the night."

-----

_Was it worth the wait? Thanks to Aleatoire for illustrating the original chain scene from LLDM, Ch. 4. Link's on my profile. Trial and NC-17 continuation coming soon! Yes, they do shift tonight… after._

**Reviews are better than yellow polka-dot bikinis. **


	14. Believe

**CHAPTER 14:** _Believe_

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_Hmm. No NC-17 scene yet. I decided to cut it out for now. Not in the mood to edit through 5 pages of S&M. Might post it on LJ or resubmit the chapter later. Might not post it at all. Tune in to my little author's notes for news. For now, behold the secret of Draco's escape in LLDM. Enjoy the chapter and forgive the wait._

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A knock came at their door near 9:15 PM. They'd be changing in minutes so Hermione wrapped a sheet around herself and rushed to the door to tell whoever it was to firmly go away.

"What?" she fumed, pulling open the door. She gasped and took a step back, pulling up her sheet. "Professor Dumbledore, sir."

The gray-haired professor raised an eyebrow and leaned to the side to look at Draco still tied up naked in bed, snoring lightly. Both his eyebrows shot up. "Well…" he began, clearing his throat. "That wasn't what the chains were intended for but I was most foolish to think they wouldn't be used this way."

She chuckled nervously and closed the door behind her. "I'm sorry about that, Professor, but with so little hope of winning the trial—"

The professor completely ignored her and continued staring at the closed door. "Is he _hurt_? Those wounds look dangerously deep. Perhaps I should go make sure he's okay."

She laughed a little more and shook her head. "Speedy healing. It's a wonderful thing. Now, about the trial… I assume that's why you're here."

He nodded and, after a quick shake of the head, turned his attention back to her. "Of course. Of course. Yes! The hearing has been scheduled for noon on January 2nd. Because of the publicity surrounding the case, they wanted it done as quickly as possible."

"So we still have New Year's together? That's excellent!"

He shook his head slowly, closing his pale blue eyes. "I'm afraid they haven't given you very much time to mount a defense but I am trying my best to aid you. Oh! And Mr. Dennis Milgrahm will be acting in name of the victims."

"Milgrahm? Who's Milgrahm?"

Dumbledore sighed and said, "The brother of Mr. Alfred Milgrahm, one of the bodies found mangled beside Draco in Spain. Professor Snape is here so he might be able to help you with the evidence. Narcissa has invited him to stay during the holidays. Now that Seneca is gone, he doesn't have anywhere to go. He doesn't know you know so I beg you to be kind."

She just went along as though she had some idea of what he meant. But at least now she knew Seneca and Snape's connection. She hurried back inside as the pain hurried up her spine, warning her of the change. She locked the door and barely made it to the bed, where she curled up beside Draco and slept away tonight's aches.

-----

Draco awoke still in chains, the sun barely in the sky. His wounds had gone but he actually missed them for a moment. It wasn't just the memories they brought back of last night. Hermione had explored all those little spots on him, spots he had found on her almost by instinct all those times before. And, when he begged it, she had cautiously torn them to pieces.

He didn't wake her right away. He watched her as he liked, resting himself up on his elbow. She pursed her lips because she could of course see herself in her mind. It interrupted her dreams, which irked her something awful. He could read her face like a book, a private transcript of her dreams, and smirked. She was dreaming of them, of moments like last night. He slowly moved the sheets down to get a better look at "the goods" and smiled brighter. She rested on her chest now so all he really got was a sneaky though clear view of her backside.

"Draco Malfoy, didn't you have enough eight hours ago?" she mumbled into her pillow, her eyes still closed, and crawled the tiny distance between them to kiss his elbow. He laughed and went to caress her face when the chains rattled and he started trying to tug himself free from the floor.

"Do you mind?" he growled, rattling the chains by her ear. She reached blindly across his chest to the wand on his bedside table and undid them, tossing the wand back onto the floor with minimal effort.

"Go back to sleep, damn you," she growled back, feral as ever.

He kissed her bare shoulder but stopped at the twitch. It was tiny and probably insignificant if it were coming from someone else, but worrisome on her. She never flinched from his touch. She could see it coming a mile away, see it in her head. The only reason for the twitch was that she didn't want him to kiss her, which was especially ridiculous after their last rendezvous when she practically raped him.

"What's wrong?" he asked softly, running his hand gently over her shoulder as though erasing the kiss. "Something's changed."

She furrowed her brow but still didn't open her eyes. He knew she wasn't asleep and, after a minute of careful breathing meant to fool his senses, he poked her repeatedly in the same delicate spot he'd just kissed and made her jump up, eye open to the world. "Ow!" she hissed. "That was mean!"

He poked her again just to be an ass and she slapped his hand away. "Mean is not telling me what's going on. I don't like this, Hermione. At first it was little things that I ignored because they usually went away. Then, we had these few lovely days together and I thought whatever worries you had had gone away but they haven't, have they?"

She rolled eyes. "You're delusional. I told you pixie dust had undetermined long-term effect but did you listen to me? Nooo, because nothing can touch Draco Malfoy."

"Nothing but you," he said with a little smirk because she'd sort of walked into that one. She tried to go back to sleep but he wouldn't let her. He pulled the sheets away and threw them onto the floor, leaving them both bare atop the bed. "What aren't you telling me, Hermione?"

She opened her eyes but didn't quite look at him. Instead, she focused on a piece of the headboard. As long as she focused there, she didn't have to look him in the eye. "Dumbledore stopped by while you were sleeping. The trial date's set for January 2nd."

"Fantastic!" he shouted. "We can have New Year's and maybe a few more nights like the last one."

She scoffed, trying to hide a laugh of disbelief. He certainly had his priorities wrong. "You mean more nights where your girlfriend ties you up to the bed, you have passionate, angry sex, give the headmaster of one of the most prestigious wizarding schools in the world a peep show, and top it off with some slightly less angry poking?"

He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. "What do you mean a peep show?"

She laughed, proud to have momentarily distracted him. It was all about the little moments now. They had no time left for the life they had subconsciously planned. So, she lifted herself up onto her elbows, giving him a better view of her chest, and smiled devilishly. She stretched to give him a slow kiss on the lips. He growled and stopped them and she suddenly remembered that they couldn't be spontaneously romantic anymore, not as he drew closer and closer to his inner beast.

"Just do me a favor?" he asked, sitting up and hugging his bare knees. "Don't keep anything from me from now on. You can keep whatever secrets you had for as long as you'd like but when something else comes up, you cannot keep it to yourself. Nothing else. Not dates or verdicts or even the smallest thing. We were good for those few days, right? You had your secrets and I didn't venture into them and we just floated on with no worries for a few days. I want that. I don't care if we never touch again, if it'll make you more comfortable with whatever you're keeping. Just don't let the secrets get so big that they tear us apart. I saw it happen in my parents. I refuse to—"

She reached up and covered his mouth with her palm. "Draco, shut up. We have less than a week together. I don't want to talk about this."

He smirked. "What oh what do you suggest we do to pass the time?"

She laughed and lightly slapped him. He faked offense though his tough skin had barely felt it. "Fine. You want to know what's new?" He nodded. "The prosecutor is going to be someone named Mr. Milgrahm and he—"

"_Dennis_ Milgrahm?" he interrupted her, his most menacing stare coming back to light. It reminded her of the old days, of the Draco that made her cry in Hagrid's hut, on Harry's shoulder… She moved back in slight fear.

"Do you know him?"

"Of course I bloody know him!" he shouted, getting out of bed. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?!"

She flinched again but this time, he ignored it and rifled through his cabinets for some pants. He didn't even bother with boxers or a shirt and she was sure those pants were meant to go with a tux so he'd just put on the first thing he saw. "Where are you going?" she called after him but he was already rushing down the stairs.

She jumped out of bed and took her robe from the bathroom, tied it around her waist, and ran after him completely barefoot. Her hair resembled her old self, up in strange, puffy places, and the color had been drained from her face. She never thought keeping something from him might hurt him or his chances at trial.

When she got to the kitchen, she found Narcissa and Snape having a hissing fight over something while Moody shook his head in a corner cross-armed. She wanted to go looking after Draco but found herself eavesdropping nonetheless. Because this was Snape, and any fight between those two couldn't be a good sign.

"…Don't you dare blame this on me!" shouted Snape, stomping like a madwoman. "I'm at Hogwarts most of the year. How was I to defend it?"

"You could have told the Order, Severus!" Narcissa replied. Moody nodded from the stool in the corner. "We could have defended it! We could have stopped him from taking the prisoners from Azkaban! You saw what happened to Lucius. If we hadn't found him, who knows—"

"Don't you dare blame Lucius on me! He did that to himself. He made a deal with the devil long before Seneca was ever taken over."

Narcissa sighed and let her hands fall from her hips. She buried her face in her hands and mumbled, "This is ridiculous. I can't believe we've come to this, Severus."

"The past isn't important," said Moody all of a sudden. His voice made Hermione jump as it always did and she cupped her hand over her mouth to keep from gasping behind the half-open door. "But we can't let Draco get sent to Azkaban. If he does, You-Know-Who might as well invite him over for tea."

_Shit. Shit. Shit_, she thought. It didn't take her long to figure it out. Seneca belonged to Snape and Voldemort had been using it to hide away prisoners he helped escape from Azkaban. But that could only mean one thing. If Azkaban was no longer safe, it meant the Ministry or possibly the Dementors had fallen under Voldemort's control. The war was raging while she did naughty things in the bedroom. Fan-freakin'-tastic.

She felt Draco calling her name and hurried down the hall towards a room she'd never been before. It was full of things Narcissa had saved from the Manor but hadn't quite had time to set up around the house. Draco was there, tossing boxes about like piles of old clothes.

"What's going on?" she asked, grabbing his shoulder to get him to stop. His eyes were huge, frantic. Hers begged him to explain.

"I'm trying to find his address. If we can go to Dennis directly, maybe I can explain and get him to stop this whole trial." She still didn't understand and she silently urged him to explain. She felt slightly better to know she wasn't the only one keeping secrets. "I knew Alfie, his brother. He was one of my guards when I was being tortured. He was a good guy, young, but he'd been bitten years ago and Voldemort was recruiting the wild packs. So, he joined up. When Voldemort ordered me killed, he refused and Pettigrew killed him in front of me. His death was my fault. The other two guards I was found with _did_ try to kill me and I had to defend myself. I don't remember much that happened because I got hit in the head and passed out but when I was woken up by Weasley and the Order, I was lying naked in a field with the dead bodies of Albert and another guard."

She sighed with relief. "Draco, do you know what that means? You might not have killed anyone! You could have been mistaken for dead and thrown out the castle or something."

He scoffed and stormed past her. She gripped her robe closed and ran after him, back up the stairs. "You know why I was allowed to escape, Hermione. They wanted me to bite people, turn them. Why change me otherwise? Why let out a prized specimen?"

"Because you couldn't be turned!" she defended. "They could turn you into an animal but they couldn't make you kill! There's a chance, Draco! There's a chance you're innocent of the charges!"

He shrugged and closed the bedroom door behind her. He ruffled his hair and picked a shirt up off the floor.

"Don't you care?" she asked softly, watching as he moved about the room in search of his signet ring and cufflinks.

"I care about the trial."

She knew there was little she could say to convince him otherwise so she let her own feelings seep through the thin veil between them. She closed her eyes and found him in the mist, took his hand and let it happen, let her calm be his calm, her purity of heart be his.

_You have to believe you're innocent, Draco. Believe as I do. Otherwise, it won't matter if you're free. The guilt will eat at you. I know you and I know you're a good man. Just believe._

He stopped moving about and crossed the room. He took her hand and looked at the signet ring on his finger. "You could never love a monster, right?" he said, remembering her words all those months ago.

She opened her eyes, suddenly lost in the mist. Was he retreating? Had he heard something in her head, a secret she'd inadvertently let slip through the veil. "So you can't possibly be a monster," she corrected. "Because I love you more than anything."

He nodded but avoided her eyes. Instead, he changed the subject back to the matter at hand. "We need to find Dennis."

She gave a single nod of approval. She'd do anything to save him from Azkaban and, apparently, from Seneca. "You can't leave Grimmauld Place, but I can. I'll find him, tell him the truth of what happened."

Draco sighed and let go of her hand. "I already found him. The day I left the Burrow, I asked Mr. Weasley to take me to see him, to tell him Alfie died a good man. I wasn't able to get out of the Ministry's watch but I managed a letter. It explained. He—Why would he do this?"

Hermione didn't want to say it because, though she knew she was correct, it meant that her world wasn't bright and cheery and naïve the way she saw it. But they both knew the truth. Alfie may have been a righteous man but his brother was in league with the Dark Lord.

Hermione and Draco didn't really talk much after that. They found themselves in the now empty kitchen, waiting for the rest of the house to wake. Aurors patrolled the halls and Draco tapped his fingers on the wooden table to the tune of their footsteps in the distance. Hermione got annoyed around 8 a.m. and slapped the back of his hand lightly. He stopped and shot her a smirk. "I was wondering how long before you did that."

"Two hours, Draco. Two freakin' hours. If you knew it bothered me, why didn't you stop one hour and fifty minutes ago?"

He laughed and leaned over to kiss her, letting a quiet moan escape his lips. Good. Another little moment to distract them. She took his hand from the table and playing around with the signet ring on his finger. She noticed he'd put it where a wedding band would be and smirked, humming his song softly to the empty kitchen. She ran her hands through his silky though unbelievably messy hair and took in all the distracting little tidbits that erased the plot of their lives.

A few minutes later, Ron got out of bed and scratched himself all the way down the stairs. He went in search of cereal and milk, not even noticing the puffy-faced couple sitting on the tiny kitchen island. When he went to set down the bowl, he jumped. "Geez! You sure are quiet werewolves. Positive you're not vampires?"

Draco rolled his eyes and pushed the bowl of cereal away from himself. "Yes but we do bite so shut up and eat your cereal like a good doggy."

Ron narrowed his eyes at him and took his bowl to go, the box of cereal under his arm. "Don't bother!" called Hermione after him. "She's still asleep. The potion knocks her out a tad, I'm afraid."

"And that's not her favorite cereal," added Draco in a dull voice, his cheek resting on his fist like a bored child during first grade math. "I'd go, ironically, with the Cheerios

Ron went to say something smarmy but decided to close his trap and walk back to the cabinet in search of Cheerios. Draco and Hermione chuckled softly in the background. "What you two waiting for anyway?" he asked as he jumped up to reach the boxes on the top shelf.

"The one on your right," said Hermione, guiding him to the little yellow box. "And we're just waiting for company, I guess."

That wasn't true in the least. They were waiting for the others to wake to tell them the Dark Lord had a stronger hold on their world than any of them knew. It just didn't seem fair to wake everyone up for that. For all they knew, the adults already knew and were trying to keep it from them. To top it off, if the Ministry was truly infiltrated like they thought, they couldn't trust the adults at all. They only had Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Pansy to talk to since they could barely talk to each other anymore. They didn't really need to, which left this void where meaningful conversations once existed.

"Oh oh," said Harry, rubbing at his eyes on the way down the stairs. Ginny followed, holding his hand with a fresh I've-just-been-laid grin on her face that she couldn't hide even if she wanted to. "Are we having a Justice League meeting in the kitchen?"

"Are we invited?" joked Ginny.

Draco and Hermione nodded and gestured for them to sit. Their faces told the others this was serious. "Shouldn't we wait for Pansy to wake?" asked Hermione but Draco just shook his head. "She's one of us, Draco."

"I'm sure Weasley will tell her eventually but that's his mess. Pansy can't even trust her own allegiances."

Ron didn't say anything, which the others took as collaboration. Pansy couldn't be completely trusted. So, they continued, "We're mounting an operation and we've got to do it before New Year's."

"O… kay…" said Harry, urging them to continue.

"I can't leave the house," said Draco. "But you guys can. Now that we know who's leading the charges against me, we might be able to stop this whole from ever taking place."

"How?" asked Ginny, leaning forward as though intrigued by the idea.

Ron glared at her. "It's scary how excited you get about dangerous escapades."

Harry laughed and took her hand on the table, encouraging her madness. Ron watched as the two couples behaved. They sat so closely together, so comfortable in each other's presence, and he could barely talk to Pansy. Maybe they could be like Draco and Hermione and not even need to talk.

"What's the plan?" he asked.

Hermione sighed and leaned forward to whisper, "We need to find out where Dennis Milgrahm lives and pay him a little visit."

"What, we're just going to talk to the guy into dropping murder charges?" asked Ginny, a tad disappointed.

Hermione shook her head. "We can't. You see… he's in league in Voldemort."

Ron flinched. "You want us to tail a Death Eater?" he hissed. "Are you crazy? We should tell one of the Aurors to do it!"

"Look, they probably know. But they don't have evidence."

"So how are three kids who barely passed their OWLS supposed to mount a spying operation and find enough evidence in less than a week?"

At this, Hermione smirked. "Because you're not just three kids. You're three kids and a werewolf… a werewolf with super hearing, one who, as far as Milgrahm is concerned, is in league with Voldemort."

At this, Draco snapped to face her. "What?"

She just smiled back, trying to pretend this wasn't serious or dangerous or all those god-awful things that turned Ginny on. Through gritted teeth, she cemented her point. "You heard me. I'm going to the dark side."

-----

_Yes, she'll have to pretend to be a Death Eater and all that good stuff to penetrate Seneca, but she won't be doing it alone. Do you seriously think a couple of Aurors can stop Draco Malfoy from trying to help his mate? Never!_

**Reviews are better than inadvertent peep shows. **


	15. Right

**CHAPTER 15:** _Right_

-----

_Forgive the delay. I actually had to reread everything before I could start writing again. It'd been a while. Well, enjoy!_

-----

Just as the adults began to wake, the children went to play. Draco followed Hermione up the stairs, slowly as though in fear of what awaited them. Hermione had to pack. He watched from the shadows as she folded her black cloaks, her potion bottles, and her wand. She enchanted them to shrivel up and fit in her pocket, which came in handy when on the run or undercover. He often did the same when travelling with his parents through Europe, always on business, never for pleasure.

He watched but, all the while, he was coming up with plans for his own escape. There was never any doubt in him that he wouldn't follow. He refused to put her safety solely on Potty and Weasel and Little Weasel. He trusted them, that they would do anything to protect her, but they didn't have his skills. He trusted their will to protect her. He trusted _them_. He didn't trust their _ability_ to save her.

"I know what you're thinking," she said softly, running a brush through her hair by the vanity table. He realized he'd been staring at nothing at all, that she had left that spot long ago.

He left his own spot against the wall and came slowly towards her, kneeling by her side. He knew he couldn't ask her to stay. He knew her too well. "I won't say it."

She let out a deep sigh and nodded absentmindedly. "Good. That's two hours of arguing I can use on something productive."

"I've stopped trying to stop you from doing crazy shit. I think you've reached the same conclusion about me. But you know I don't want you to go alone."

"Harry and the gang will be with me."

He scoffed. "You know damn well they can't follow you everywhere. There will be points when they will take you aside. They might try to… force themselves… upon you. I've seen them try. So have you. You _will_ be on your own and you will need to take care of yourself."

She paused her brushstrokes and stared at his reflection in her mirror. "No," she said, reading what he would not say in his mind. "I won't kill. I don't want you to give me permission to kill. That doesn't make it right. I will defend myself but I will always maim, never kill."

"You've killed before," he reminded cruelly.

She glared at him murderously. They never spoke of such things. She didn't mention Spain. He didn't mention the werewolf attack on Malfoy Manor.

"To save _you_!" she reminded him. "Against Voldemort's rabid werewolf bodyguards!"

He stood up suddenly and turned his back to her, storming across the room towards the bed. He looked like a little kid on the edge of their mattress, kicking his shoes about like they were toys. She repressed the urge to smirk.

"I'll protect myself," she assured him. "No matter what I have to do. I promise."

"Even if you have to kill."

She rolled her eyes, seeing it as a last resort that would most likely not be needed. After all, she was going to lie to a single man, not a Death Eater horde. Well, so she hoped.

He found then the dress she'd laid out on the bed, her disguise. He knew it well. He'd enjoyed running his hands over the fabric on his favorite dangerous escapade to Club Daemos. It was also the dress of a whore, stolen from the rack of other whores. He didn't like it. She was only supposed to dress like that for him. He didn't understand why he was jealous. He should have been worried sick.

"You wore this the first time I claimed you as mine," he whispered, knowing she could hear.

She scoffed. "First time you claimed me? Am I a prized horse or something? Well, you've already branded me, haven't you?"

He laughed sadly at the memory of the bite on her chest. "You know I don't mean it in a macho way. That day in Club Daemos when you walked up to me like that, in that dress. The animal in me recognized the animal in you. People bowed to us, terrified of what we were. It was… beautiful."

But she wasn't paying attention. She'd grabbed Draco's wand and had begun altering her appearance. The darker, flowing hair was back, as was the bosom he would surely have found sensual on any other woman. On Hermione, it was out of place. She was fine the way she was. This new girl with perfect skin and perfect hair, come-hither eyes and blood red fingernails was not his Hermione. He didn't even know this girl. He shut his eyes and tried to imagine the one he loved, the big-haired freak with the book stuck to her nose, lying on her stomach atop his carpet as he watched from the window.

She saw it, the memory as clearly as a projection before her eyes and gasped. Of all the memories in their months together, he had to choose that one? She didn't understand. Was he trying to remind her what she was? Was he trying to be cruel? Then she felt the love, the lust as that skirt rose in his memory, revealing more and more thigh.

She chuckled and went to straddle him on the bed. The curtain of dark hair hid their embrace from the world. He didn't open his eyes, sure that he'd find a stranger upon him.

"Please don't make me do this," he begged softly, shutting his eyes tighter still.

She kissed his neck and, by the time he finally opened his eyes, she had left the room. There was only a phantom weight where her body had laid atop his but that was enough for him. It was a goodbye.

-----

Hermione had gone downstairs to deal with Harry and Ron and Ginny, to plan things out to the tiniest detail. He followed their plan from the next hall over, memorizing all the details he could. She could feel him lingering nearby but didn't say anything, unsure if he could hear. He couldn't stand to listen to it any longer. There were a million flaws in the plan. He knew his presence was not allowed in the room so he hurried back upstairs, away from the thrall of Hermione's voice. He'd heard enough to keep him wide awake every single night she was away.

He slammed the door to their room behind him, buried his face in his hands, and fell forward onto his knees. They made a crunching noise and he winced but it quickly healed. He heard a tsking sound from the bed and jumped to his feet again. Pansy was resting back on the bed,

"Draco, Draco, Draco… Didn't your mother teach you not to slouch? And you'll mess up your hair doing that nervous raking thing all the time," said Pansy in a bored voice, inspecting her fingernails. He knew better. She wasn't bored. She was angry.

So, he poked at the wound, the only thing a Slytherin knew to do. "Did they lock you out of the clubhouse, Pans? Oh don't worry. They'll let you play when they need someone to distract the guards. Admit it, honey. You're as useless as I am."

She growled at him and he swore he saw the golden eyes of the wolf shine through. "Who says I want into the clubhouse, asshole? Why should I risk my neck out for you? For all we know, you'll be cleared at trial and they're just walking into enemy territory for nothing. Doesn't that just tick you off, Drakey?"

He fought the urge to grab her by the throat and squeeze. Instead, he began to walk towards the bathroom. "Don't call me that," he warned bleakly.

She laughed. She was beyond angry. She was hurt and he got the idea that it had nothing to do with him or Hermione or the mission they'd be going on in a few moments. "I forgot. Only Lulu calls you that," she said. "If Hermione gets killed, does that mean you'll go back to your whores?"

He waved her off because they both knew he never would. He had never liked that life, the one his father had forced upon them all. "You're pissed in more ways than one so I'll let that one pass, Parkinson."

He could smell the liquor on her breath, on her clothes. She was a messy drunk and he got the idea that she'd been up all night pretending not to care next to a bottle of tequila. She could hold her own at the raunchiest Slytherin parties but this was something else.

"You going with them or not?" he asked. She was not the type to venture into dangerous situations willingly. As she often reminded the world, with great pride, she was a Slytherin.

"Ron wants me there," she whispered, staring off at nothing. "I should be with him, right? That's what you'd do for Granger. You'd be with her. Right?"

"Right," he answered with a smirk. "But you don't want to be there, do you?"

"It's not in me. I'm not like you, Draco."

He nodded. He understood. He wasn't like that either before Hermione, before the Gryffindors and their ridiculous plans. Now, all he could think about was being with her, keeping her safe.

"Well then… How'd you like to help out Weasley without having to leave the comfort of that bed?" he offered.

She shuddered because she knew this could only mean stupid moves and dangerous situations but as long as she could stay safe, as long as she could help Ron, she'd do whatever Draco asked. Even if it meant giving up everything that made her… her.

-----

The four – Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny – waited by the door for Pansy to finally come down the blasted stairs. She stumbled down them later that night, a puddle of tequila in her wake. Ron took the bottle away and threw it into the fireplace, shooting her a mixed look. She was worried, obviously, but her eyes didn't have the same fear they'd had that morning when Ron came to share the plan. It was a sort of self-assurance that scared them all, and all assumed it came after half a bottle of whatever that foul-smelling crap now dripped off the front of her dress.

"You've got to be freakin' kidding me," said Harry, crossing his arms. "Look, Ron, I know we need another wolf girl for backup and you're together and all but there's no ruddy way we're taking her with us smelling like that. If she doesn't stumble into the enemy, they'll be able to smell her a mile away."

Pansy mumbled something incoherently, snatched Ron's wand from his inner jacket pocket, and cleaned herself up in an instant. "Chill, Potter," she said. "This ain't your Muggle world. Not everything is such a big fucking deal all the time."

Hermione snorted and Pansy's ghastly glare flew to her, scanning her from head to toe. Hermione gulped. The little Slytherin was deadly, they all knew. It was best not to cross her, sober or not.

Draco appeared at the top of the stairs. They all looked up for a moment. He gave them a nod, almost a cryptic farewell, and slid back into his room. He didn't say a word. That would have been too much.

"Everyone's got the plan memorized?" Ginny asked in a low voice, trying to break the awkward silence.

"Yes ma'am," answered Pansy. The question had not been directed at just her but everyone knew she was the only weak link. The others had been doing crazy things like this for years. "Though, in my opinion, it's kind of pointlessly complicated, don't you think?"

Ron scoffed and shook his head. "What do you suggest we do then, love? Knock on Milgrahm's front door and ask him not to be an ass."

Pansy turned to him, smiled devilishly, and started for the door out of their sanctuary. The others looked at one another and ran after her but it was too late. She'd already summoned a broom and was out into the night, presumably on her way to Milgrahm's front door.

They caught up with her halfway to central London. She was flying straight and unusually well. She landed on a rooftop and waited for the others to catch up. They were out of breath and their hair stuck up every which way. Hermione, who still hated flying, was shooting daggers at her.

"Are you crazy?" she hissed. "What happened to the plan?! The plan, Pansy! Remember that?!"

Pansy just smirked and pointed down through the glass floor at the ballroom full of… Death Eaters? They had to be. Most of them, Harry recognized from his encounters with Voldemort. The rest, the others recognized as parents of prominent Slytherin students.

"Screw your plan. It was crappy and you know it," she said with a confident smirk. It made Hermione jump. She'd seen it before, too many times to count, but she didn't say a word. She bit her tongue and stepped back to let Pansy talk, watching from afar with a furrowed brow for any other little tell-tale signs. There were none, not yet.

"It's not a bad plan," said Ginny. "I mean, you could have told us before we started our own little thing but whatever. It's simple. Can't go wrong with simple."

Ron smiled at Pansy but she didn't even notice, not that she ever did. She was too busy inspecting her nails and flipping her hair. She used her wand to change her dress into something fancier. "They'll recognize me as a Slytherin. I go in, schmooze up some guards, set up a meeting, and we'll be inside by the end of the night. Tomorrow at the latest."

"They will recognize us," said Harry.

Pansy pointed at Hermione, who still wore the Staf dress. "No one will recognize _her_. Look at her. She'll get any guy in there to kiss her feet by midnight."

"And you just happen to know all these random Death Eater events by heart?" Harry asked with a laugh.

Pansy laughed back. "I've hosted most of them, love. Don't you forget who you're dealing with."

"A drunken midget with a monstrous ego?" mumbled Ginny beneath her breath. Harry snorted and Ron elbowed her lightly. Pansy grabbed Hermione's arm and they took the roof access door into the building. It was narrow and dark and they had to hold hands to make sure they didn't get lost. The stairs went down forever, deep into the basement. They didn't know which floor to stop at.

Then they heard the big band music coming from five flights below. It wasn't the event they'd seen through the glass roof of the greenhouse party. It seemed like the whole building was slowly erupting with dance, a different theme behind every door.

"This is new," said Pansy, furrowing her brow, staring at the mess of people before her.

The basement held the noisiest floor, the greatest party. It was almost an orgy of people, would be if the corners were lit enough to see what people were doing in them. Smoke hid the faces. Masks did the rest. People were dressed in all sorts of twenties wear, if anything at all. Red lights lit the dance floor like a darkroom for developing photos. That's when they noticed the clotheslines with pornographic pictures of the guests and past events. It was always a different theme but it was always red-lit.

"I think we're in a Death Eater speakeasy orgy," hissed Hermione.

Pansy scoffed. "No shit. I told you. I used to host these. The orgy part usually develops later on its own. It's rarely planned."

Hermione didn't know whether to laugh or cry. "Why oh why do I let you drag me into these things?"

Pansy gulped but didn't answer. She knew it was meant to be rhetorical. "We just need to find Milgrahm."

Hermione nodded and sauntered into the room, her eyes flying from man to man, looking for the markers Draco had told her. Red hair. Green eyes. Pale, long face. His brother's traits. The lights didn't help much. Everyone had red hair.

Pansy knew better. It was unlikely that Milgrahm himself would be at the party. Contrary to popular belief, not every Death Eater went to the parties. It'd be like putting all your eggs in one basket and, after the fiasco at the Malfoy's ballroom, they tried to avoid large gatherings. These people were just bored aristocrats, old and young alike. Any of them could be Death Eaters. Any of them could be corrupted by power.

Pansy looked for men who looked like they blended into the background, the quiet ones who knew everything and everyone. The weak ones. The ones that brought down governments from the inside. The ones who revolted easily… like Draco.

She spotted one in the corner. He had long, dark hair but even in the red lights, he was still clearly a man. He had wide shoulders and a permanent bored expression. He watched a couple undress in the corner but he still didn't seem too aroused or shocked. He must frequent the orgies. A perfect target.

Hermione watched from across the room, lingering by the punch bowl that wasn't really punch or in a bowl. She saw the target. She saw what Pansy was doing. But she didn't move. If Pansy needed backup, she would ask for it. But, knowing Pansy, she never would. So Hermione waited for the unconscious signal of danger or success.

"Hello," said Pansy to the target. "I've seen you here before. Am I right?"

He smirked and nodded. "Beats home, ya know?"

_Great. An American_, thought Pansy. _This should be a piece of cake._

"I know. You ever take part?"

He shrugged. Obviously no. "I like to watch," he answered sultrily.

Pansy swallowed her urge to vomit. She couldn't believe she was doing this. She pressed him up against the wall and whispered, "You watch a lot, huh? I'm actually looking for a friend of a friend. We had an arrangement."

"Right." He made it sound dirty. She could have said peanut butter and he would have found it sexy.

"Maybe you've seen him. He's a redhead, got really bright green eyes…"

Before Pansy could finish, Hermione came up behind her and slid her hand around her waist. "Hey, sweetheart. I thought we were supposed to be looking for Dennis."

The American's eyes widened with arousal. He tensed up and cleared his throat. Pansy got the hint immediately. _Play along._

"Yea, I was just getting to that, honey," she said.

The American cleared his throat again and looked around. "Uh yea," he continued. "A redheaded Dennis? Sure, I've seen him. He's not here though, not that I saw. Not today. His crowd's not the basement. He likes the greenhouse upstairs but he only comes once a month or so."

The man would have told them the secrets of the universe if he knew. But he didn't know. They hadn't found the right target. Hermione and Pansy looked at each other, silently coming to the same conclusion.

"Well, think you might be able to tell us who he's usually with?"

Boom. The pieces clicked in the American's mind. It could be seen on his face, trailed and documented. "Come to think of it, he's always with these three guys. Leaven, Alton, and Murth. They're here! They're always here. Murth should be in a corner somewhere. Big black guy with a Dark Mark that's been scratched off with a knife. Can't miss him."

The girls smiled at him and left before he could shift the rim of his pants for the sixth time. Hermione didn't let go of her waist until they were by a dark column on the far left. Nobody was paying them any attention, though they still wanted privacy to discuss strategy. Hermione hid her face in Pansy's ear and whispered, "I know what you're doing."

"Trying to seduce my way into Dennis Milgrahm's inner circle like the whore I am?"

"No," growled Hermione, slapping her hand against the wall by Pansy's head. "I know _who_ you are."

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_I think you should be able to guess the big switch was about. Things should clear up. It gets all sorts of hilarious. Then sad. Then hilarious. Then sad. Uh… lookin' forward to it!_

**Reviews are better than loveable freaks with books. **


	16. The Boy in the Girl

**CHAPTER 16:** _The Boy in the Girl_

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_Sorry yet again for the delay. I've got six stories working themselves out in my head, not to mention a few original novels in the mix. Would you forgive me if I started posting a bit more frequently?_

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"How the fuck did you know it was me?" screeched Draco, welcome words coming from Pansy's careful tongue. He was a bit loud so Hermione took him back to the staircase.

She pushed him up against the wall. "Come on, Draco! Do you really want the list? The walk, the smirks, the overly-confident attitude that makes you think you can get every man in this place now that you've got a vagina."

He gagged. "Don't remind me. I've been in Pansy before but I've never been IN Pansy before. It's ridiculously unnerving."

"Oh but flirting with other men isn't?" She felt like banging her head against the column but it might have drawn attention. "You physically switched bodies with her, didn't you? It has to be because there's no way she took a PolyJuice after downing that much booze. Draco, I can't believe she let you do this."

"She agreed to it, you know. I didn't force her! I think she was just excited to have 24-hour access to my manly bits," he said and took a glass off a passing waiter's tray. It must have been absinthe by the green color though, if it weren't for their werewolf eyes, it'd be impossible to tell in this light. Hermione snatched it from his hand before he could drink and drank it herself in one gulp. He watched, wide-eyed.

"Those manly bits belong to me and she damn well knows it," she mumbled, already slightly slurry.

Draco chuckled hoarsely. "Well, if she breaks them, you're more than welcome to take revenge on _her_ girly bits. I promise I won't complain if you let me watch."

Hermione shot him a look that made him want to dig his own grave and bury himself alive. He gulped, loudly, and shot her an apologetic look in reply. He wished he could conjure his old voice back so that, even in the dark, she could feel a little reassured. There was no way anything coming out of Pansy's mouth was going to make her feel better. In fact, Draco was pretty sure she was two steps away from turning murderous.

He let her sober up a little against the column though he knew that didn't help much and reminded her, "We should really start looking for this guy."

She nodded, though it only aggravated the impending headache, and took his hand. It was small in hers and she remembered it was Pansy's hand. She quickly dropped it and stiffened. _This is so fucking weird,_ she thought. She didn't know how to feel safe in his presence. She just felt… alone. And drunk. Very, very drunk.

"That's it," she mumbled to her shoes as she followed Draco up the stairs. "I want a divorce."

"We're not married, Hermione," he reminded dully. He hated seeing her drunk. It was only funny when they were alone in her bedroom.

"Oh… right. I forget."

He rolled his eyes and opened the door to the next floor. "See? If you'd married me like I wanted, you could be divorcing me right now."

"What are you talking about?" she answered, throwing her arms in the air as though no longer in control of her own limbs. Draco was starting to wonder if that'd been absinthe at all and went for her waist instinctively to hold her up. "You never wanted to marry me. Despite being the most strangely faithful primate I have ever met, you are also the least domestic."

Their argument up the stairs caught the attention of the entire floor which, to their dismay, had silenced to hear an announcement from one of the members and all now faced the stairway with deeply furrowed brows. It was also almost entirely made up of men.

"Uh, hello," said Hermione, waving lamely.

Draco pulled her along the wall to the staircase on the other side of the room. "They think we're lesbians, idiot," he growled. "Just play along and ignore them."

She'd started slurring and he was quite sure every sentence after that was made up of at least three separate thoughts put together. She started to slide down the wall and Draco began to feel the stupidity of his choices that night. He couldn't carry her out of there. He should have made sure she never left Grimmauld Place.

"PANSY!" a man sounded behind him. He knew it wasn't his name but his body automatically twitched and stiffened in response. "Pansy, what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at school?"

Fuck. He knew that voice well. Actually, he knew it better several octaves lower and screaming at him to get his filthy hands off his daughter. He quickly realized that he _was_ the man's daughter and that it was relatively safe to turn around. Just in case, he kept an eye on all nearby exists. As well as Draco knew Pansy, this man was still her father and he could probably see right through any bad act.

This man was also one of the most dangerous Death Eaters around. If he got even an inkling that Draco was out of the Order's protection, Draco and Hermione were as good as dead. Then again, nowadays, there was little they could do outside their rooms that didn't ultimately put them in some sort of mortal danger. Draco, unlike Hermione, understood this clearly so more of his decisions were based on the possibility that he might die at any moment. He didn't fear this man, even though he knew he should be in Azkaban with all the other lords of death.

"Sorry Dad," he played along, feeling odd calling someone else Dad when he could barely call his own father the bloody word. "I'm on winter vacation, remember?"

Mr. Parkinson's furrowed brow suddenly relaxed and he leaned back against the wall beside Hermione. "Right. Your mother doesn't tell me much these days. Sorry, love. Are you having fun?"

He chuckled softly. "Yea, Dad. Uhm, we were just looking to take my friend back to her father's," he explained. He leaned in closer and whispered, "He was in the basement, you know, and I didn't want her going down there in her condition."

Mr. Parkinson laughed, obviously just as drunk as Hermione. Draco knew he'd come to the party in that condition. His late-night theatrics were well known in their circles, just like Lucius' many trips to Club Daemos.

"This your girlfriend?" he asked Draco, whose eyes shot so wide that Hermione was briefly reminded of Mad Eye Moony.

"Uh… yea," answered Draco cautiously. "That okay?"

The older man shrugged. "She's prettier than the Slytherin hag I caught you having that threesome with. She was too skinny. This one's curvy. I like curvy."

Draco rolled his eyes. "You're not the one dating her, Dad," he grumbled, hating the fact that this drunken bastard was ogling his girlfriend, especially when he thought it was his daughter's. "Besides, she's got a mouth on her. I'm thinking of dumping her."

Hermione kicked him in the shin.

"Who's her father then?" the man asked but Draco couldn't quite answer.

"Uhm… well… turns out her dad wasn't here at all. So now we're looking for a friend of her father's named Murth."

"Zacharias Murth? Oh yea. The cheat just beat me at poker on the next floor. Come on. I'll walk you two. You spending the night with _her_?" Draco went to reply but Mr. Parkinson didn't let him. "Whatever. Just let your mother know or something. And don't drink that green shit they're passing around. Someone laced it with some roofie-like thing."

Draco and Hermione both groaned. "It's not a roofie," said Hermione, holding onto her waist as though in deep pain. "Definitely not a roofie."

Draco cursed and helped her up, following Mr. Parkinson up the stairs. He hated being the only sober one at the party. They were led through a crowd of people, all obviously snooty, drunk, or horny, to a room behind a ridiculously large, wooden door. It was like the Vegas backrooms Hermione had seen in gangster movies.

They noticed Murth right away. The American had been right. He was hard to miss, sitting a full foot above everyone else. Who knew how tall he stood. He was stocky and wore a scary scowl, permanently etched into his lips. But, what Hermione could tell even while heavily intoxicated was that his eyes showed something completely different from his exterior. He was sad, and very lonely. She knew the type well.

Draco just saw the Dark Mark on his arm, calling to him like a brother across a room. It'd been scratched out with a knife or something, scarred over, but it was still recognizable to Draco and every other Death Eater in that room. And it killed him that even in another body, another gender, the Dark Mark was still so scarred into his memories.

Hermione felt him tense beside her but just stumbled forward onto the poker table, laughing. Draco went to straighten her up as Mr. Parkinson disappeared somewhere, probably the buffet table downstairs. Draco was getting extremely tired of having so many undependable adults in his life. He was used to taking charge but this was getting ridiculous! Was no one dependable? Well, no one besides Hermione?

Draco pulled out his wand and went to lift her up but, at the speed of lightning, he hand shot to the scarred Mark on the man's arm and her eyes met his. Draco paused as everyone's eyes turned to her. She pulled Murth in closer across the poker table and whispered menacingly, "_Seneca_."

Everyone at the table rose around her. Her grip on Murth's hand loosened until she collapsed. Draco let out a long sigh, preparing himself for a battle. He lifted his wand towards Murth. "Stand back," he warned in a singsong voice.

"Who the fuck are you?" asked a relatively tiny man beside Murth.

Murth stood and his true size was suddenly apparent. He was a skyscraper in the middle of a shanty town. "I don't care who you are," he said. His voice was surprisingly soft as he turned to Draco. "Did she just get out?"

Draco shrugged. "Out of what? Seneca?" Murth nodded. Draco took advantage of his current body and realized that playing the damsels in distress was going to get him a lot further than looking scary and unapproachable. "Look, I don't know anything about that. She's sick and we need to find Dennis Milgrahm. We were told you could help us. Please?"

There was a moment of silence and the rest of the room went about their games. Murth lifted Hermione with a single arm and picked her up into his arms effortlessly. He nodded towards a back door for Draco to follow, then locked it with a swoosh of his hand. Draco got the idea that Murth came from old-school magic, much older than he appeared. Dumbledore old.

He walked them to the fireplace in the back. "This floo is safe. Come on," he murmured and they were gone in a blaze of powder and green smoke. They arrived in the lobby of a hotel. It was mostly blue and white and they were obviously in another country because there was no a hint of the London skyline in the distance. The rain was heavy outside like they were caught in a hurricane and then Draco heard the other people talking in a variety of languages. Nobody was coming into the hotel and there was no one at the front desk. People were just coming in and out of fireplaces and rooms and nobody seemed to care that Murth had an unconscious girl in his arms.

"This is a safehouse!" hissed Draco, following Murth up the stairs.

He nodded and the door to room 222 opened for them. It was a pretty basic room with green linens everywhere. Whoever designed the hotel was really into monochromatic color coordination which, coincidentally, Draco abhorred.

"We don't know where the actual hotel is," explained Murth. "It's invisible to anyone outside and the doors don't open without a wand. You're perfectly safe. Now… she said something to me. Seneca. Do you know what that is, little girl?"

Draco blinked twice. He hated being called a girl. It made him feel like shit, and not just because he was actually a guy. It was almost derogatory like he was supposed to be afraid automatically. But Hermione was never afraid and Ginny was never afraid. They were the strong ones who kept idiots like him and Harry and Ron in check. He promised himself that if he got out of that hotel room alive, he was never making another sexist joke ever again.

He thought he knew what Seneca was. Obviously, Hermione knew a lot more. But he figured that pretending to be weak and afraid had gotten him safe harbor for a bit. Might as well keep playing and maybe he'd get a few more answers.

"Name's Pansy. And she said it was a place. That's all I know."

Murth nodded and set Hermione on the bed, running a hand over her face. She coughed and writhed for a moment and then the alcohol and whatever else had been in her drink seemed to evaporate from her pores. Oh yea. Murth was old school magic and powerful enough to go wandless. He looked down at his watch then gestured for Draco to sit. He took a spot on the other side of the bed and began to give and receive information as he'd been taught.

"Seneca Hill was the home of the Prince family," he said, his voice sadder and sadder as he went. "It was abandoned. You-Know-Who took it over and began clearing out Azkaban bit by bit, just enough to evade suspicion until he could take over the relevant parts of the Ministry. Now, he can do whatever he wants with whomever he wants and there's nobody to stop him."

Draco noticed that Murth would stare off in the distance as he said it as though just reciting his life story in ten minutes or less. He'd been caught up in it somehow.

"The Order can help," suggested Draco timidly. He didn't want to talk for an organization he barely knew but he also knew it was what Hermione would have said were she conscious. He could feel her inside his head, looking in on the conversation, and wondered if she was awake or if their connection went beyond consciousness.

Murth just chuckled. "The Order of the Phoenix was founded by Aurors, good men. They may be able to help but it'd be back to Azkaban for most of the prisoners. They have two choices: try to escape – and most likely die at the hands of those damn werewolves – or join Voldemort."

"So what? You help them escape? They were in Azkaban for a reason!" Draco shouted.

Murth shrugged. "Maybe. Some just made some bad choices back in the day. We help the ones who try to escape, who deny Voldemort. We have men on the inside."

Draco knew he couldn't fight with the man. He had his points, his convictions. Draco knew of such things himself, though most were spearheaded by or for Hermione. "Then why tell me?" asked Draco. "Why tell someone you just met?"

Murth chuckled. It was an eerie sound that made Draco break out in bumps and shivers. "Because you're like me, little one," he answered. "I can feel you've been Marked somehow, though I can't quite see it. I wonder—"

"That's not his body," said Hermione, sitting up groggily. They both turned to face her as she rubbed at her face as though afraid her skin were melting off. It wasn't. She still looked like the distorted version of herself, affectionately known as the Niece of Staf.

"Excuse me?"

Draco made throat slitting gestures behind Murth's back to try to silence her. She didn't even notice. "Mr. Murth, my name's Hermione Granger. I'm a member of the Order of the Phoenix. This midget in the corner was at one point my boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, formerly of Satan's entourage. We're looking for Mr. Milgrahm because Draco here is on trial for the murder of his brother, hence his less than clever disguise."

Murth looked back at Draco in Pansy's little form and started to laugh a little harder. "This is _the_ Draco Malfoy?"

Draco would normally have narrowed his eyes at him and spouted something witty but Murth honestly scared the shit out of him so he kept quiet and wide-eyed as Hermione continued, "Don't. He's not… He's not what you've heard. Now, Mr. Murth, we need your help and we're going to need you to take us at our word that we're going to do whatever we can to help your escapees. We have our ways."

Silence filled the hotel room. A few minutes of staring later, Murth sighed and reached into his cloak for his wand. In a flash, it was aimed at Draco's throat and the large man was hovering over him menacingly.

Hermione stood without hurry and pulled the wand away. Her fearlessness took both of them by surprise. "Please, Mr. Murth. What would you do with the dead body of a 17-year-old girl? Even if you don't kill us, if you just stun us and leave us here, we know how to get to the hotel now. And, to top it off, my best friend is Harry Potter. Have you heard of _him_? He was on the roof of that party we just left. He knows your name and if we're not back in time, if he tells Dumbledore we disappeared in _your_ company, he's going to send the entire Order after your people. They know about Seneca, Mr. Murth. They want to help. Don't force our hand. You'd be sending innocent people to their deaths."

He snatched the wand back, seemingly furious, and pocketed it. "I wasn't going to kill him, Ms. Granger. I was going to give him his face back. I knew his father. I would never kill a Malfoy."

"That wouldn't be very nice either. It's not a disguise. He's switched bodies. If you undo it, he'll be caught and the real girl put in jail, probably, for aiding a fugitive."

That seemed to catch his interests and sympathies. He understood fugitives. He understood helping people who everybody turned their backs on.

"Dennis is a friend. If you expect me to protect you, you better have proof of his innocence."

Draco looked to Hermione because they knew they had nothing but Draco's story. So they told it. Everything they remembered. It took two hours and a lot of angry staring but Murth finally spoke again.

He cleared his throat and said, "So let me get this straight. You two are together? He practically attacked you, turned you into a werewolf, forced you to rescue him countless times from life-threatening situations, set your underwear on fire – which you really must let go, dear – and is currently in the body of his ex-girlfriend instead of being safe in house arrest surrounded by family, friends, his soon-to-be Auror stepfather, and Harry fucking Potter?"

They both nodded.

Murth shifted a little in his seat again and continued, "And, to top it off, you have no real evidence of your innocence because you blacked out after they turned and tortured you and just woke up in Spain in a field with two dead bodies?"

That was all more or less correct. Hermione just kept her eyes on Draco, waiting for him to reveal something new. There was something beneath the surface, something he didn't say. He was blocking her all across the board and she didn't like it one bit.

"Then what do we do now?" asked Murth. "I can't just take you to Dennis. I don't even know where he is right now."

Hermione shook her head. "You know damn well where he is because it's where _you_ go to save people. He's at Seneca. With Voldemort. And you're going to take us there, right after tell Harry and the others."

Draco shot up to his feet, very nearly tripping on Pansy's god-awful shoes. "Hermione, you can't be serious. I know I'm the king of crazy plans but even I wouldn't walk into Voldemort's secret stronghold like this. In fact, I'm quite sure it's impossible. The Order's known what Seneca is since before we rescued my mother. They have its previous owner on their payroll and _still_ they haven't invaded."

Murth stood too, high above them. His shadow alone silenced them. "You have me now. I have snuck out a dozen prisoners. I can certainly sneak one in."

Hermione exhaled loudly. "And, if the Ministry wants to get him back, they have to chase him into Seneca."

"One problem," added Draco. "The Ministry thinks Draco Malfoy is still back at Headquarters."

Hermione rubbed at her eyes. "Why oh why is it never easy?"

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**Reviews are better than manly bits. **


	17. Evil Overlords Can't Decorate

_**The story so far…**_

_Draco and Hermione are quickly showing symptoms of werewolf mating, including quasi-telepathy. Yay! Ron and Pansy are trying to have a relationship. It ain't working because she's a whore with a mysterious brother (who's in Seneca), and a werewolf. Ron doesn't care but Draco keeps getting blamed for all the shit she does. Harry is planning something with Dumbledore. Ginny's not happy but hey, she's not gonna ask about it as long as nobody dies. Christmas dinner was a disaster but it happened. Narcissa and Moody are engaged. Everyone thinks it's weird. Hermione and Draco are getting so close, it's creepy. _

_The elusive Seneca is Snape's family's home but Voldemort took it. Prisoners from Azkaban are getting sent there to become part of Voldy's new army. He's still turning people into super werewolves left and right, against their will. Or torturing them like he did Lucius, which Draco doesn't know yet, and he's smart enough not to ask. It's just one of many things Hermione's keeping from him but it's all coming out slowly._

_Draco is under house arrest because this guy put charges on him for the murder of those guards in Spain at the beginning of LLDM. He doesn't remember killing them but well, he might have been unconscious or all wolfy. Hermione and Draco are terrified that they're going to stay wolfy and deformed if they keep changing as it's getting harder to turn back. _

_Draco has switched bodies with Pansy to escape house arrest. The group tries to reach the guy, Dennis Milgrahm, and coerce him into dropping the charges but Draco leads them to an underground Death Eater mixer. They find his friend, Murth, who leads them to a hotel where Hermione can sober up. She explains everything and they go back to the party to tell Harry, Ron, & Ginny their plan to invade Seneca as prisoners. Nobody thinks it's going to work. Everybody's right. _

_And now…_

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**CHAPTER 17:** _Evil Overlords Can't Decorate_

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"What do you mean we're invading the enemy stronghold?" screeched Harry.

"Why does it feel like we're always saying that?" mumbled Ron through chattering teeth. "Why haven't we ever captured this damn enemy? Tell me _that_!"

He subconsciously pulled Pansy closer, under his arm, before quickly realizing it was in fact Draco in his girlfriend's skin and pushed him off. Ginny chuckled before them. "What do you say we head back to Grimmauld Place already and get some cavalry?" she offered, feeling like the only same one in the bunch.

Hermione, Draco, and the very large Murth all shook their heads and crossed their arms. Harry raised an eyebrow at their coordination. Ginny just laughed again. She wasn't the least bit worried about anything, so long as she had Harry beside her.

"No offense, children, but I'm not stepping anywhere near the Order, let alone its headquarters. I'm listening because I still have trouble believing you lot are even _connected_ to the Order and we need all the men and women we can get," Murth said.

"Who is 'we'?" asked Ron, not too happy about the idea of being recruited.

Murth sighed and went to sit on the roof ledge. Even though they all knew it was a solid ledge, they expected it to bend under his weight, to hear the crack of brick when he sat. It reminded them of Hagrid, whom they now all missed terribly. It was a connection to a time that, though mere months ago, seemed like decades prior.

"There is no 'we.'"

Draco snorted. "You sound like one of Weasley's exes."

"What exes?" added Harry in a low voice, staring off at the cityscape absentmindedly. Even Ron and Murth, neither of whom seemed capable of a single moment of cheeriness, smiled. They would use any excuse to smile now, as Harry so bluntly reminded them four more times before they arrived at wherever the hell their individual duties asked of them.

For Harry, it was a simple task. Alert Dumbledore. He was the only one really capable of sending a truly strong Patronus, one that Dumbledore would recognize immediately. After that, he and Ginny were to take up their positions as a standby line of defense. If Draco had to set the damn house on fire, they were going to have to play cavalry when their friends all went running out the front door with scorched hair. It was a possibility that Draco kept in the back of his mind, should they need to make the escape. Nobody wanted to kill The Boy Who Lived, not for the sake of a Slytherin.

Ron was the welcome party when Dumbledore arrived. He'd wait at the hotel as Murth instructed and prayed they brought Pansy with them so they could have another wolf on their side. If nobody came, they were screwed and they knew it. If nobody came, Ron would be the one to alert them that they were on their own. He greatly hoped nobody felt like killing the messenger.

For Hermione and Draco, however, the plan meant playing prisoner and prison guard for the night. They had no clue what that entailed, except perhaps restraints which usually qualified a normal Friday night since Draco started freaking out about turning into a werewolf permanently.

Murth was kind enough to supply the restraints. As he tied Draco up with special magic resistant rope, the two spent a good ten minutes talking about the best knot for what situation and how to avoid the dreaded hog-tie through witty conversation and subterfuge. Hermione watched in awe of the mind of evil, even reformed, and the things they spouted with no regard for company. What's worse, she was fascinated by the seemingly insignificant knowledge they held.

Once Draco was properly tied up, Murth bid farewell to the group of idiot adventurers and led Draco and Hermione to their next destination. Floo powder got everywhere and they still only ended up in a random field in any part of no-name England. The couple glared at Murth.

"Are we seriously standing in a field?" complained Draco. Of course he would be the first to complain. Even Murth was expecting it. "I don't care for fields. I don't care for fields at all."

Hermione purposefully bumped into him as they walked to seemingly nowhere. "Shush. He knows what he's doing and he's practically saving your psychotic ass so let him and don't ask questions."

"Saved my arse?" he echoed, offended. Nobody got to save him, nobody but Hermione. He took it as a challenge.

Murth just rolled his eyes and pulled them across the dark field, tug-tug-tugging them along. The sky had started to hint at the coming dawn, which meant they had to hurry towards the secret entrance to Seneca if they were going to make it under the cover of darkness. It didn't matter, really, but Pansy's face wasn't completely unknown in Voldemort's most inner circle. Darkness would help, seeing as they were stuck in their current forms.

"These heels are killing me," groaned Draco yet again. This time, Hermione clenched her jaw to stop herself from kicking him over the head.

"That's what you get," she answered. She always had to answer, Murth noticed, even though it wasn't necessary and just fed his ego.

"We're here," said Murth. Everyone stopped and stared at… nothing.

"Please tell me it's invisible," said Draco.

"Better!" shouted Murth, taking his wand from his cloak pocket. The wind swept across the vastness of the field. "It's underground!"

Hermione wasn't going to ask how they were going to get to a castle in probably a whole other part of the country from there. She was convinced that this Murth fellow was trustworthy. She'd been right about Draco, after all. She couldn't be too far off now.

As the ground opened, she and Draco held their breaths. It was just a tunnel. They prayed there wasn't a light at the end.

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Ron waited in room 222, the exact location Harry had instructed Dumbledore. He was told to wait for Dumbledore but he wasn't stupid. He was waiting for Pansy to come and hug him, even if in the body of another boy. He wouldn't care. He just wanted to see her, hold her, tell her she was a fucking moron for letting Draco talk her into body switching and that she was starting AA meetings the next day.

He waited but it seemed like they weren't going to make it.

Harry and Ginny lingered at the front gates of Seneca, just far enough not to be seen. They were supposed to have fled if Draco and Hermione took too long but it took a lot more than orders to get Harry to leave his friends.

Ginny sat with her back to the gates, up against a boulder the size of Hagrid. She looked up at Harry, who kept two vigilant eyes on the gates. She sighed and said, "If something goes on, you'll know. You'll hear the screams, Harry. Sit with me for a bit, will you?"

He shook his head, his eyes fixed on the gate. "I can't, Gin. You don't understand."

"What?" she shouted, suddenly furious. "Don't you fucking tell me I don't understand, Harry Potter."

She was used to Harry being a martyr for others but when they were together, on their walks around the lake, he was just a boy. He promised himself to her and did so with pride. She knew it was silly to think he'd abandon a lifelong crusade for her. But it'd been nice to pretend.

Now, once again in the face of danger, it was still nice to pretend.

She stood, ignoring their cover. "You could have said anything. You could have said that you loved me and that we'd be alright so long as we had each other. Why can't you just forget your boyish awkwardness just for one day? For one hour? Can't you see those are my friends in there too?"

He clenched his jaw and pulled her down beside him. "Do you want me to lie to you?"

She flinched. He almost sounded… cruel? Harry was never cruel. He slowly turned to her and Ginny saw the worry written on his face for the first time.

"No," she said. "That's not what people who love each other do. You can tell me I don't look fat in my jeans, that my love of sports is not intimidating… but don't lie to me about this. About now. Don't tell me our world isn't ending when I can feel you slipping away every second."

He turned his attention back on the gates but he reached down and took her hand, squeezing tightly and reassuringly. "What do you want to know?" he whispered.

-----

Murth led them down the tunnel to a stairway in the distance. It was dimly lit but ominously lit nonetheless. "It's just at the end," Murth said. "You're on your own from here. I can't be seen inside again."

"What?" squeaked Draco. "Aren't you coming with us?"

Even Hermione agreed that it was comforting to have another jolly giant by their side. Without him, she felt a bit naked and helpless in that ridiculous disguise. "How will Milgrahm recognize us – trust us – without you?"

Murth reached into his cloak and pulled out a simple white feather. He handed it to Hermione, who slipped it into her bra.

"He'll know what it means," said Murth and, with a small salute, he sent them on their way.

Draco just stared in awe, more open about his helplessness than Hermione ever would be. "A feather? Are you serious?" he squeaked again.

Hermione pulled his chain up the stairs. They found themselves in a long corridor, obviously once abandoned by the footprints in the dust.

_Evil overlords never bother to vacuum,_ they both thought, sharing a look.

"Come, prisoner," joked Hermione, pulling him down the hall towards the set of double doors at the end. The sense of unease, of evil hanging overhead, reminded her of Malfoy Manor. "Do all Slytherins use the same architect? Explain this to me."

"No, just the same interior decorator probably. I don't know. Mother handles those things."

She chuckled, trying to rid herself of her nearly crippling fear with a few laughs. "Please make sure to lose her number when we're decorating our own little castle."

"Our own little castle," he echoed softly. "Are you planning the moat already? The ducklings by the bottomless pit? The garden of Venus flytraps?"

"I was thinking more of a little guestroom for when my parents visit and a ballroom sans the werewolf bodyguards. Maybe a cozy bedroom for us with a little cage in the corner for the children."

He snorted and she pulled a little tighter on his chain. "This may not be the best time to be talking about this."

"When the hell else are we going to get a chance to talk about this? We barely need to talk as it is."

Hermione pulled open the double doors and saw more than she wanted to see in one lifetime. She had seen dungeons before. Hell, Slytherins slept in dungeons. This was no dungeon like she'd ever seen.

It was made up of cages, cages everywhere. They were slowly being emptied. The prisoners still wore their Azkaban uniforms. Some of them wore cloaks. Civilians. Hermione recognized them from MISSING posters in the paper. Many had been socially important enough to make the front page, before they were never mentioned again.

They didn't seem important now. They seemed broken somehow. They sat in their cages like dogs and stared out at nowhere. They reminded her of the werewolves she'd seen at Malfoy Manor, the way they obeyed without question. The newer ones lingered in the back of the cages, hugging themselves and crying into their knees like defeated children.

She thanked God there were no children, none that she saw. She didn't know what she would have done if there had been children. Most were men with bite marks on their faces. They were healing but the marks were there. The important civilians had marks in other places, hidden places so they wouldn't be suspected.

"Have you seen this before?" she asked Draco, not turning around to see Pansy's face shed a tear.

Draco normally wouldn't have cried. He'd seen worse, but being in Pansy's body made him an emotional mess. He didn't respond. Hermione just understood that he had.

They knew there was another room, maybe dozens, where other things were being done. They knew in times of war, torture was commonplace on both sides. It didn't make it right. It didn't make Draco any less nauseous. It didn't make Hermione any less tired of fighting. What was the point of fighting fair if the other guys never did?

"I know what you want to do," said Draco, as soothingly as possible, "but we can't free them all. We have to get to Dennis first."

He nudged her along and they passed through the rows of cages. Hermione looked ahead, clenching her teeth. Draco looked at their faces, seeing himself in them. He nodded at some. Like Murth, they could recognize the Mark inside him. In one way or another, they all shared the same cage.

_Don't look at them, Hermione. Please. Please, don't look them in the eye,_ Draco begged inside his head. Hermione heard and froze near the entrance, eyes focused on the double doors at the other end of the dungeon.

"Why not?" she whispered over her shoulder. "What don't you want me to see?"

She closed her eyes and gripped his restraints tightly in her fists. He lingered behind her. In their heads, his voice was his own, not Pansy's. If he was going to say anything to make her feel better about the people around her, she wanted it to be in _his_ voice.

He understood and shut his eyes, looking for her light in the back of his mind, connecting them like never before. _They're like me, Hermione. They're just like me before I met you. You never saw me truly defeated. You never saw me in a cage, huddled in a corner. You only saw the physical wreckage afterwards, the easily fixed wounds. If you looked closer at these people, saw their faces, you would see me. You'd see me like that forever and I couldn't stand it. _

She gulped and moved on towards the door. She searched for the knob and waited for his touch to tell her it was okay to open her eyes. He set two gentle fingers on her shoulders and she knew it was safe. The next room was another passageway to another dark staircase.

They both sighed with relief that it didn't hold more cages. "They don't bother with basic electricity either," said Hermione, trying to lighten the mood. She tapped one of the sconces on the wall. It was one thing for her to be worried. She was worried often, for any little thing. It was another thing for Draco to be worried. About anything. He was more prone to complaining.

As soon as he stopped complaining and started worrying, Hermione began to freak the fuck out on the inside. He felt her as they walked up the stairs. The corridors were busy then. Death Eaters walked about in masks and hoods, though most masks were lifted up over their heads. There was no real need for secrecy inside the house.

"How are you doin', Sparky?" purred Draco at a passing Death Eater. The older man caught his eye, recognizing the Mark and the wolf instinct immediately. He growled at him but it wasn't territorial. It was just… recognition. By then, they both understood they were in. Only prisoners and Death Eaters made it this far inside.

The Death Eater turned around and, ignoring all others in the increasingly busy hallway, asked, "You found the Parkinson girl?"

Hermione nodded. "Yup. I heard you guys might want a report."

"She didn't need to tie me up," said Draco with a flirty smirk. "Though it is a bonus."

The Death Eater chuckled but ignored him. He turned to Hermione again. "Who are you supposed to report to?"

"Dennis," lied Hermione, always quick on her feet. "Parkinson's a friend of the family so he wanted to get a good look at her before things got crazy and she ended up in a cage. This one's not one to play house, you get me."

The Death Eater seemed a little too focused on Hermione's bosom. Draco cleared his throat and glared protectively. "Uh… to Dennis?" reminded Draco.

"He's with You-Know-Who just down the hall, third set of doors on the right with the big green smear of paint. I'd just wait outside for the meeting to end though. You-Know-Who's been in a killing mood."

"Thanks, mate," said Hermione and saluted awkwardly. The Death Eater just shook his head at Draco's flirty, girlish smirk and went on his way, scratching the back of his neck.

"I know this is probably a stupid thing to say given my well-documented libido but I love being a girly girl. It's like an all-access pass anywhere," said Draco.

Hermione found herself rolling her eyes yet again. The situation was ridiculous enough without his constant comments. She growled at him, wolf to wolf, and he got it. They walked to the door with the dark green paint smear, obviously done by hand. She was sure Professor Snape would not take kindly to having his family home defaced like that. Draco nodded in agreement, not having to read her thoughts to know they were thinking the exact same thing.

They sat on the floor by the wide doors and waited, watching the Death Eaters march on, dragging prisoners in chains. Some in prisoner uniforms didn't need shackles. They never left Voldemort's service. They didn't need the cages to be turned evil. The occasional werewolf walked by, faces disfigured in ways that made Hermione hide her face in Draco's shoulder. He'd nudge her because of course anybody who saw her tiny moments of fear and weakness would know they didn't belong.

"We'll be like that soon, won't we? That's what you were afraid of," whispered Hermione.

He nodded. "Not for you but even if I only change on full moons, I'm unnatural. I'll end up like that very soon."

"I'm unnatural too, Draco. You forget. You're not alone. And I don't care what you turn into so long as you're mine."

He smiled and waited for the hallway to clear to kiss her cheek. "Once we get out of here, remind me to buy you an even bigger place. Maybe something shiny. Yea, something shiny."

She didn't have time to smile back. The screams woke her out of their little moment. It took only a second for everything to change, for two invaders skidding on the edges of cruelty to realize the true dangers just on the other side.

-----

_No, Dennis isn't dead. There's still hope! Tune in! _

**Reviews are better than Friday nights in shackles. Or Saturdays. Or Sundays…**


	18. Once a Death Eater

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**CHAPTER 18:** _Once a Death Eater_

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Ginny stared out at the gates of Seneca Hill, waiting for her world to crumble into a thousand different pieces. Harry rested a hand on her shoulder but she didn't feel it. She didn't move. She didn't want to look him in the eyes.

"You should have told us he was dying," she whimpered.

His vigilance withered in that moment. "I didn't lie, Ginny. I just didn't tell you everything."

She scoffed, offended. When she looked up at him over her shoulder, her teary eyes stabbed at his heart. "I don't care who lied or who kept what. Dumbledore is dying, Harry. He saved your life the moment that acceptance letter reached your mailbox when you were 11 and a half dozen times since then. He gave you a home. He gave you…"

"I know. I've had a long time to come to the same conclusion, Gin. There's just nothing we can do."

"He's been training you, hasn't he?" she asked, not really needing an answer. "That's what you guys were doing. He's been training you for what's going to happen this year. He's been training you to live without him."

Harry sighed and shook his head. "He's been showing me how to fight Voldemort, Gin. Things I could never have learned in DA or Defense Against the Dark Arts. I'm the heir to his knowledge. Do you understand?"

Somewhere in the middle of Harry's little speech, Ginny had begun crying hysterically. It didn't stop him from saying what he had to say but he had the sinking feeling in his chest that with every word, he came closer to losing her forever. With every word, he was choosing to be a murderer, a martyr, a hero… over the boy she loved.

She also knew that there was nothing she could do. She couldn't be selfish and ask him to stay with her. She could never do that. All she could do was comfort herself with the tiny knowledge that he wouldn't be going into battle empty-handed.

"Do what you have to do."

With that, she ended the conversation. They turned their full attention back on the quiet gate, knowing quite well that they would never hear the screams of their friends, should they be caught.

-----

"What the hell do we do?" asked Draco, trying to break free of his restraints. They knew very well that if it was Dennis, he was being killed in the hands of Voldemort. Chances of surviving that: zero. If it wasn't, they still couldn't afford to break their cover as Death Eaters, no more than they could have freed the prisoners from their cages.

Her eyes said it all. "Nothing."

A few seconds later, the doors burst open and a small group of the fully disfigured werewolf guards dragged out another prisoner. Nobody spoke but the screaming still rang through the halls, some magical echo of moments passed.

They looked around for the source but couldn't. The doors slowly shut again by themselves and they saw, just for a moment, the silhouette of the man they knew to be Lord Voldemort. He sat in a chair by an ornate fireplace, looking for anything to warm his cold blood, a hand outstretched towards the flames. Guards stood beside him, all around the room.

Werewolf guards. Perfectly obedient. Too disfigured to ever rejoin society and too afraid to try.

Hermione whimpered, her legs shaking under the weight of her fear, but pulled on Draco's leash nonetheless. "Come on, dog," she said, her voice trembling as she tried to avoid suspicion, and pulled Draco just down the hall.

They held their hearts, panting.

"Did you see him?" wheezed Draco.

Hermione shook her head. "Dennis? No. Not unless they've turned him into one of those things."

Their sounds echoed in the same creepy moans and echoes. Draco growled, waiting for the echo to come. "What the hell is that?" he asked, wrinkling Pansy's nose as though he'd smelled something rotten.

"Irony," said a voice behind him. They both jumped, only to find the very red hair they'd been looking for sneering down at them. "Actually, it's more like tragedy. The patriarch of the Prince family did it over 100 years ago. He wanted to hear the sounds of his children's laughter everywhere he went. Now, it just captures the screams of our lord's playthings."

Draco and Hermione gazed up at the well-dressed man, jaws to floors.

When they didn't speak, Dennis continued, "Murth left me a message saying two girls were looking for me. He didn't tell me much else I'm afraid so I'd rather you spoke sometime tonight so I can get to a post-Christmas party that's happening in—"

"My name is Draco Malfoy," he blurted, hearing the words tumble out of him without any control.

Hermione nodded like an idiot, eyes still fixed on Dennis Milgrahm's red hair, a blonder shade than the Weasley's, and his vibrant green eyes, almost as vibrant as Harry's. He was taller than they expected and his eyes held the same sort of secret kindness that Dumbledore wore so well, the appreciative gaze.

The kind eyes faded and were replaced by the malice, the evil they knew the man possessed. It quickly worked faded, just a reaction to the name. "Young lady, I've seen a lot of good transvestites in my day. You are no Draco Malfoy."

"They switched bodies," Hermione finally jumped in, gulping down something heavy in the back of her throat. It tasted like dread.

Dennis reached for Draco's leash, tugging it away from Hermione, and pulled them down the hall towards an abandoned, dusty old bedroom. It seemed like it had once held children but if so, it hadn't been occupied in over 100 years.

"We're telling you the truth," said 'Mione. "We have gone through Hell and back, even that basement orgy you and your little group of misfits call a Christmas party, in search of you. You need to believe us or I'm going to go bonkers, here."

Dennis took two steps towards Draco, who suddenly felt smaller than ever in Pansy's tiny body. Dennis stared at his eyes as though trying to find some inscription labeling this little evil midget of a girl as his worst enemy. His fingers wound around Pansy's delicate neck and squeezed, sending them flying against a wall. Hermione squealed. She suddenly realized she was in a room with the very man who was sending her mate to prison and all she could do was stare. He was no salvation. He was no answer. The entire crusade was foolish, a result of her imprinting with Draco.

Draco shot her a wide-eyed stare. He wasn't really afraid, not as long as she stood nearby, but his exterior showed otherwise. As Dennis lifted his whole body off the ground, his eyes widened further and he kicked about, trying to free himself. His hands still bound and wandless, he had no chance whatsoever. Hermione raised their only wand to Dennis' temple and growled, "Take your hands off my mate or I'll be forced to take action, Mr. Milgrahm. We're not here to cause trouble. We're here to speak to you and only you."

It didn't matter. Draco went flying across the room like a piece of tissue caught in a ceiling fan before landing on the bed. Dennis straightened up his dinner robes and reached for his own wand. Hermione barely had time to scream, "Petrificus totalis!"

Dennis froze into a block of ice and went crashing down onto the ground. She made damn sure he could still hear and see and hopefully breathe before going to check on Draco, untying him. He sighed and hugged her briefly before taking back his wand and shoving it to the tip of Milgrahm's long nose.

He said a spell Hermione had never heard before, something presumably rooted in great evil, and the girl holding the wand became the boy they all knew and occasionally loved. Hermione let out a breath of relief. She hadn't even wanted to consider what she'd do if Draco couldn't turn back. She didn't even care that Draco was still wearing Pansy's whore-galore clothes, now ripped to shreds.

They stood as a couple once again, side by side, hovering over the body of Draco's accuser. "We are not your enemy!" said Draco, pulling back the wand. He fixed his tattered clothes, turning them into a man-sized cloak, albeit frilly.

"Actually," corrected Hermione, "he's a Death Eater. Kind of makes him our enemy."

"Makes him _your_ enemy, not mine," said Draco. He couldn't believe he still had to explain this, especially to Hermione. He was a Death Eater. He would always be a Death Eater. He didn't have to agree with their agenda or swear allegiance. The Mark on his arm did it for him, even the pure blood inside him.

At the remark, the atmosphere of the whole room changed. Dennis' eyes narrowed on Draco, who let loose the bands of spell so Dennis could speak.

"He is right. You are a Death Eater, just as I am."

"He didn't kill your brother," said Hermione. She had worked up speeches in her mind, tiny ones in the few moments of clarity she'd had since they concocted this plan, but that was the only line she could remember.

"I know," said Dennis.

Draco sighed with relief and lowered his wand, but Hermione just got angrier. When Draco didn't fire, she stole the wand from his hand and jammed it back into the petrified man's cheek. "You know? YOU KNOW? Then explain to me why the hell you haven't called off the trial?"

He chuckled. The bastard chuckled. "I am merely a puppet on a string, child. Draco Malfoy had the connections and the infection to turn every Slytherin child, every heir of decadence and power, into a werewolf in the service of our lord. Then he met you, I assume, and become a weak puppy at the feet of the Order. You ruined his plan. Worse, you made him a weapon in the hands of the enemy. You both have to be brought down. We cannot touch him so we must use the law. It does not matter that I know Draco is innocent, that I know my brother was a tool, killed by the very man I serve. There is _nothing_ either of us can do!"

Hermione lowered her wand, too tired now to fight what they knew to be the truth. "Damn it."

"What?" asked Draco as she turned around, hiding her face in her hand.

_I should be in a library, reading up on wizard law for the trial. This was so stupid_, she thought. _He's right. Of course he's right._

"'Mione, don't speak like that," he said.

Dennis tried to raise a curious eyebrow but couldn't. He was still bound by magic. Draco turned back, feeling his eyes upon them. They must have looked crazy, one speaking in her head while the other responded aloud.

_What do we do now? He's not going to help us. He's not going to stop the trial. He is worse than evil. He is apathetic. _

"We tried, Hermione. I had to know that he understood it wasn't me. I don't care about the rest."

"How can you not care?" She snapped around as though he'd slapped her. This required yelling. "They want to take you away! They want to put you in jail with monsters. _Real_ monsters! They want to take you away from me _to die_! What happened to the boy who was afraid of a scratch? I need you to be that boy again."

He shook his head. "I can't ever be that boy again, Hermione. I don't want to lose that trial but if I do, it's fine because I got to have you. I got to hold you and taste you and wake up to you and share with you every form of me. You loved me even when I could not love myself. You loved the boy and the monster. I don't care what happens anymore. I got my fill of life."

She was crying. She knew she was. Her jaw was trembling and her hands shook as she hugged herself. Make-up stained the back of her hands. But she didn't take her eyes off him. He was sincere. He had said many things like that, especially when he was trying to get her into bed, but this time, she believed him. She believed him enough to consider letting him go. To give up.

Then she quickly remembered she was a Gryffindor and that she was letting him go the day she let Harry learn how to break dance.

"I am not letting you go. No fucking way," she whispered. She blinked away the tears and hurried to Dennis' frozen body. With a flick of her wrist, she undid all of it and Dennis sighed with relief. "You! We need to get out of here. Murth led us in through a tunnel. Can we go out the same way?"

Dennis looked at them, doubt obviously riddling his thoughts. He could lie and tell them no. He could walk them straight into a trap. He could alert… anyone! Any monster off the street! But he wouldn't.

"Yes, it's the only way in or out. You-Know-Who doesn't know it exists. We use it to get prisoners out," he conceded.

"Thank you," said Draco with a slight tilt of his head.

"Don't thank me, said Dennis. "You look like yourself now. They have orders to shoot a Malfoy on site."

Hermione's eyes widened but she didn't speak. She didn't need to ask the way Draco did. "What? Why?"

"After your father, of course."

Hermione gulped and hid her face in her hand again. She shook her head. _Why oh why did he have to say it?_

Draco looked at her over his shoulder. "What do you know? What about my father?"

Hermione refused to resurface from her hands. It was Dennis who answered, calmly as he adjusted his handcuffs and cloak. "He's denounced our lord after You-Know-Who realized you were working with the Order at the Malfoy Manor Massacre and put a warrant out on your head. They nearly killed him before Murth and Alton carried him out. We left him at St. Mungo's. If he hasn't died yet, he should still be there."

Draco started to hyperventilate, scaring Hermione out of her hiding place. She had to help him down to a nearby chair as he stared out at nothing. She went to address Dennis when Draco clutched her wrist, so tightly that it bruised almost instantly.

"You knew?" he growled. "You were keeping this from me? This is why you refused to touch me for so long? You thought I'd see this?"

She knelt down by his knees, ready to beg forgiveness, before realizing that she had no reason to do so. "I did it for you. I saw your father at St. Mungo's after Pansy nearly killed you. I couldn't let you see him like that. I saw how you were with your mother. I know you did everything you could, even give your life, to make sure she wasn't turned or killed. You must have. If you knew that your father was tortured – whether because of you or not – it would have hurt you too much. You had to recover. You had a trial to deal with. You had your face in every paper in wizardom. I couldn't let your soul die with him!"

Dennis rolled his eyes. "You two are so melodramatic."

They didn't hear a word. When Draco and Hermione argued, truly argued, they did so in their own little world where no lesser beings could invade.

"It doesn't matter anymore. We just need to get out of here," said Draco, smoothing her hair back from her face. He wiped the tears away and helped her stand. Though his actions were kind, his expression told a different story. He was colder, calculating. She didn't hold back her touch. She clung to him as though afraid he'd take back all his sweet words and she'd realize the last few months had been a lie.

"Yes!" shouted Dennis, clapping his hands together. "Please! No offense but I like it better when I'm not being held in dusty old rooms and forced to listen to two psychotic Romeo and Juliet wannabes go at each other."

"There's still something we need to do first."

Dennis sighed and sat back down. "What? For the love of God, what is it now?"

"I promised the girl whose body I borrowed that I would find her brother," said Draco. Hermione groaned and sat back down, once again hiding her eyes in her hand. "His name is James and he was taken from Azkaban months ago. We don't know if he's alive or dead. We just... need to know _something_."

Dennis dropped his annoyed exterior and regained his soldier's stance. He lingered a moment, once again wondering whether or not to tell them the truth. He sighed and answered, "There's been one James. He was moved two days ago by our friends Alton and Leaven. We don't tell each other locations, should we be discovered. Alton is almost always here, in Voldemort's chambers. So, if you want to find out, see Leaven. He's Alton's contact outside, where Voldemort has no ears and no eyes. Murth will help you."

"How do we find Murth?"

"The hotel. He helps run it sometimes. Leave a note at the front desk and they'll let him know you're looking for him."

Hermione scoffed. The place she'd seen didn't exactly seem like it had a very well-functioning front desk. It was more chaos than anything. Dennis shot her a reassuring look.

They said their quick goodbyes. Dennis shook Draco's hand – Death Eater to Death Eater, Slytherin to Slytherin, rich frat boy to rich frat boy. When their hands parted, Hermione realized that Dennis had slipped something to him. She didn't say a thing, just waited with a cloak to cover Draco up as much as she could before they went into DEFCON 1 and everyone started losing their skins.

After all, they were about to walk back into reality, where tears were signs of weakness and may very well signal their deaths.

Dennis went first. Draco slipped the paper he'd been given into Hermione's bra as he leaned in to kiss her. "I've wanted to do that for a bit," he said jokingly into her lips. She could feel his smile. It was sad; she knew it without even having to open her eyes. She felt him all over like a bad shiver that wouldn't go away. She gulped down the feeling and forced herself to smile for when they parted.

"If we get split, meet me at Hogwarts."

He nodded and stepped out, hood low. A minute later, she followed. A group of prisoners was being dragged off by three werewolf guards on hind legs. They sniffed at Draco and Hermione but let them go. Animals recognize each other, in one way or another, just a Death Eater recognizes another. They went on their way, down the halls as quickly as their cover allowed. They couldn't run, as much as their fight or flight response demanded of them.

"We're almost there," Hermione whispered with a laugh. "We're almost home."

Even though it was just a whisper, low for even werewolves to hear, Seneca would not let them leave. It caught her voice, the sweetness of hope. It echoed. Everywhere.

They heard the rushed footsteps in the distance, mixing with the echoes of laughter. They turned around, only to find a quickly forming line of werewolves with teeth and claws at the ready. They snarled, waiting for a signal to tell them dinner was served.

Draco slowly moved Hermione behind him, handing her his wand in the process. By now, it was hers as well as his, responding to both mates as though they were one and the same.

"Hermione… run!" he shouted.

Robes ripped at the seams as she watched the boy she loved turn into just another animal. She went to uselessly call out his name but a hand had slipped around her mouth from behind and pulled her back around the corner towards the entrance to the tunnel. The last thing she saw was Blaise standing before the line of werewolves, calling out the order of attack.

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_Another chapter coming soon! I'm in the mooooood. Thanks to the sudden surge in Facebook adds, as well as the 300-review landmark. Love you, guys. Also! Just a quick reminder that the Dramione Awards are going on right now on LiveJournal. Nominations are still open. LLDM might be up. I'd appreciate a nom! See my profile for a link. _

**Reviews are better than realizing you're dating a bad boy. **


	19. Always a Death Eater

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**CHAPTER 19:** _Always a Death Eater_

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Fifteen minutes passed. Twenty. Thirty. Everything was silent. Ginny paced behind Harry, holding back tears and hugging herself for warmth. Harry was the same, shivering under the weight of a phantom pain. He knew they were losing as long as they just sat there and let their friends brave enemy lines.

"This is wrong," he finally whispered, knocking Ginny out of her thoughts.

She threw her arms in the air. "Yes! What have I been saying?"

"No, not what we've been talking about. Yes, that's wrong but I mean Seneca. They shouldn't have gone alone."

Ginny's eyes lit up the way they usually did when Harry suggested yet another god-awful adventure sure to turn into disaster. "Is this you saying we should storm the gates?"

He narrowed his eyes at her but was too quickly distracted by the swarm in the distance to reply. It might have seemed threatening to anyone else, something so obscured by night. To Harry, it was a beautiful mirage in a seemingly endless desert. "No, love. I say we meet the cavalry," he answered and pointed up at the sky.

She turned on her heel and craned her neck at the swarm. They both laughed and stretched their arms up in the air, calling the others down to Earth. One of them pushed back her hood, revealing vibrant orange hair. "Tonks!" shouted Ginny. "Over here!"

Tonks swerved and slowed but didn't stop, scooping Ginny up behind her. Another followed her, a stockier man in a similar hood. By the feel of his scarred arm, Harry knew it was Moody. He didn't care. He clung tight as they flew on down to the front gates.

"It's not safe this way!" shouted Harry. "They have defenses!"

Moody laughed. "Don't worry, child. Dumbledore's taken care of it. We too have our spies in their midst."

Harry looked around for Ginny but found Pansy instead, two brooms behind, looking terrified among so many Aurors and generally good men. He shot her a smile, realizing quickly that if she was there, it meant whatever spell had caused them to switch places had been reversed. Frantic with worry, he leaned in to Moody's good ear and shouted, "HURRY! If they got to Draco, they're both dead!"

Moody nodded and swerved again, making for a balcony on the east side. The swarm followed. One by one, they entered the mansion through its windows. Harry landed first, Ginny and Tonks behind him. Alastor went on his own mission while Harry and Ginny scoured the grounds.

Death Eaters were everywhere but the invaders surrounded them, cornered them, petrifying as many as possible before they could turn. Nobody wanted the Malfoy Manor Massacre Part Two. Not even the Death Eaters, it seemed.

Harry and Ginny got separated from the others. They were more preoccupied with looking from room to room than fighting anyone. They rounded a corner and almost ran face-first into Ron, who had entered through a north-side window. When he saw his sister, he set down his broom, pushed back his cloak, and hugged her. Ginny didn't know how to react. They were in the middle of a battle, one that had just started. He knew she had to be safe. He saw her get picked up off the ground.

"Ron, what is it?" she squeaked.

"Sorry, sis. I just ran past a boggart and thought—well, I just thought—"

Ginny and Harry smirked at each other. "You thought she'd gotten hurt, didn't you? Aren't you cute?" joked Harry, giving him a playful punch on the arm.

Ron punched back, not so playfully. "No, dumbass. I thought she'd gotten pregnant and was being tortured by Snape for the answer on a quiz."

Ginny went pale and walked past both of them, thinking once again that she had way too many male influences in her life, none of whom were exactly stable. That's when they all heard the growls at the end of the hall. Most people know to run away from the angry animal sounds. Harry, Ron, and Ginny would have loved to run away, but they knew they had to at least check it out first.

They could recognize Draco and Hermione immediately. Their furs were unique, but the mess they saw at the end of the hall made the Malfoy Manor Massacre seem like a tea party on the ceiling.

Sparks were everywhere, from the few wizards still walking around on two feet. The rest were snarls. The floor was slippery with blood and drool and other things none of them ever wanted to think about again. Harry fought with himself not to step in but it would mean his death. This was not a fight for the likes of them. If Draco and Hermione were caught up in it, it meant…

Ginny grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him back to the other end of the hall. "There's nothing we can do," she whispered, "but pray they make it out."

-----

Draco never saw where Hermione went. That was the point of a secret entrance, he figured. Luckily, he didn't have to see her enter the tunnel to know she was safe. He could feel her. She was terrified but safe, and that was all that mattered.

She was terrified because _he_ was terrified. The army was new, fresh out of their skins. They didn't hold their human minds quite yet. They didn't want, too enthralled by the power. So, when Draco shifted to attack, those that had been taught how to shift on command followed but didn't attack right away. Draco realized then that he was fighting puppies, not wolves, and smirked confidently.

Blaise shifted and charged at them. In the momentary shock of seeing his childhood friend change before him into a vicious animal, Draco hesitated and didn't lunge at his neck right away. He was having trouble keeping his human mind on track too. Without Hermione beside him, it was like running blind into a brick wall, but he did it nonetheless.

He was slammed back onto the floor by at least three other wolves and stepped on till he heard his ribs crack and mend and crack again. One of them stopped, believing him dead, and he took his chance. He hit it with his hind legs, sending it flying back into the circular crowd of snarling beasts. It set the others off, creating a mob of confusion.

Instead of attacking Draco, they attacked each other.

Draco felt buried under jabbing balls of bone and fur, rolling atop him and pressing him against hard castle walls. Images of Hermione disappeared. It went on for what seemed like an eternity. His whole world, his humanity, fizzed away into the background. Everything was about survival. Everything hurt. Everything healed, too quickly for his mind to remember he had once been human.

It and everything that had once been Him retreated to the darkness inside his head. It was a dream, a moment trapped in time and memory.

Her fingers running through his hair…

Her smile on his neck, biting and nibbling…

His head on her lap, bathing in broken light through colored Hogwarts glass…

Raindrops on skin, shimmering like little pools of sadness…

_Hermione._

Names and times and feelings but nothing else.

_Am I dead?_ he thought.

_No,_ she answered. _I'm right here. I'm always here. Just hold on. Hold on to me. They're coming for you._

But he couldn't answer what he knew was a figment of his imagination, a survival instinct to ease the pain. His thoughts grew shorter; the moments faded. And soon, there wasn't even a shattered memory. There was just darkness and the faint smell of death.

-----

"Let me go!" demanded Hermione, pulling away and slapping her assailant before realizing who it was. She gasped and pulled her hand back to her chest. "Professor Snape! I'm sorry! I didn't realize it was you!"

He glowered at her, annoyed yet relaxed. "I imagine I'd do the same," he eventually caved. Hermione imagined him taking points away from Gryffindor in his head just to spite her later on.

"Professor, what are you doing here?"

He nodded towards the tunnel, to keep walking towards salvation. She didn't move an inch, choosing instead to look back at the closed door. "You can't _both _be caught. They can't have mates in their arsenal. It's too dangerous. They can't know what you really are!"

"He's in pain," she whispered, her voice shaking to bits. She couldn't concentrate on what he was saying, on the things he knew that he couldn't possibly know unless he was more than just trailing behind enemy lines. "I know I have to leave him but it hurts."

The professor put a hand on her shoulder and answered, "I took off the protection spells. The Ministry will be here within minutes. Just put your trust in them, in me, and in Draco. He'd want me to protect you above all else. We have to hurry."

She gulped and, three painful tugs later, allowed him to pull her down the tunnel.

The trudge was silent. She knew the way but her mind was in the darkness, trying to look in through Draco's eyes but seeing nothing but darkness. She tried harder but, aside from a headache, all she got was the fear he felt.

It got to a point where she couldn't walk. She could barely breathe. She started to hyperventilate and reach for the walls, sliding down them slowly. Snape stopped and turned around. He took hold of her wrist and pulled her up but she started to slide down to the floor again. He pulled once more, taking both her wrists and shaking her.

"Granger! Snap out of it! You're a werewolf for goodness sake! You can't have a panic attack on me now!"

"He's hurt!" she gasped, shaking her head. "He's hurt and I can't hear him anymore!"

She heard Snape curse expertly for the first time in her life, unashamed, but he still didn't let go of her wrists. She realized it was the only thing holding her up. He wasn't strong enough and she collapsed on her knees, scraping them. She echoed his curses in perfect rhythm, which made him smirk a shadow of the infamous Slytherin smirk.

The pain seemed to snap her out. She grunted and pushed herself up off the ground. She held onto the walls. They were sturdier than Professor Snape, surely more trustworthy. From years of dealing with Harry and Ron's paranoia, it was hard not to feel just a _little_ distrustful. Still, she followed him to the other side.

When she saw the overcast sky once more, she finally breathed in. She didn't even know she'd been holding her breath. She just remembered her feet – one in front of the other, one in front of the other – towards the end.

She wasn't sure if it was morning or night. The sky was too dark and rainy. Mud mixed with blood on her legs. It'd started to drip down and she wondered just how long that tunnel had been, how long she'd been talking with Dennis, how long Draco might have been dead…

She knew she was crying but she didn't feel it. She just wiped at her face, smearing blood and mud, as they trudged on towards a gathering of cloaked figures in the distance. Hermione felt safer and safer, recognizing more silhouettes with every step closer. She sensed that Draco was asleep. In pain, but asleep. They had stopped hurting him.

She relaxed, to the point of collapse. She felt like she had been sending him all of her energy to him, all of her will to survive. Now that he no longer needed her to draw breath, she felt the exhaustion of their shared existence.

Snape reluctantly wrapped an arm around her shoulders, keeping her upright till the crowd of Aurors, a secondary line of defense, it seemed, could hurry to her aid.

"Forget about me!" she shouted, though it came out more like a mumble. "Storm the castle. It's what you do best. Storm it and get Draco out. My mate is in there!"

She thought that was what she said but a few moments later, she found herself lying on a bed of grass, cloaked creatures all around. She felt like it was third year all over again, watching Harry and Sirius be swarmed by Dementors. Only, this time, it was her watching herself be carried off as though from a distance.

She knew she couldn't fight it and let out what felt like a last breath. She fell into the darkness, feeling around for the remnants of Draco.

There was no sign of her mate, not even the angry little boy she met all those years ago. She found only a snarling beast in the distance too great for her heart to stand. It was something not even worthy of the wolf name. It was a Death Eater.

-----

_So I'm sick as hell. Can't sleep. Can barely finish off my sentences. And, I'm contemplating killing off Draco just to cross this story off my to-do list. I'd appreciate some love. Yes yes?_

**Reviews are better than raindrops on skin. **


	20. Return to Malfoy Manor

Without further ado, the fiftieth chapter in the _Love, Lust_ saga…

* * *

**CHAPTER 20:** _Return to Malfoy Manor_

"She's not waking up anytime soon, Gin. We should let her get some rest," said Harry soothingly, rubbing her back. Hermione could hear them at her bedside but it took her a few minutes before she even considered opening her eyes. Her eyelids weighed tons. At least she was back in the real world, with no memory of anything she experienced in the darkness, just the distant feeling of dread and loneliness.

"It's Ron's turn anyway, right?" said Ginny.

Hermione shook her head slowly and mumbled, "It's nobody's turn. I'm fine."

It came out like grunts but they got the message. She clambered around her bed and she felt hands on her face, checking her temperature and her inner eyelids. She lifted up her arms to shoo them away but they fell back on the bed, lifeless.

"Don't try to move much, 'Mione. You must be exhausted."

"I'm glad you're okay too," she answered, reading the hidden message in Ginny's worried tone.

"Ha!" scoffed Harry. "You are freakin' lucky you got out of there in one piece. Voldemort had more soldiers than we imagined. We froze some and are trying to get them help but we got our asses kicked this time."

Despite her lack of energy, she sat up. It was slower than normal but still sudden. Her eyes were large with shock.

"You didn't get him out, did you?"

She didn't need an answer. She could feel it. Feel him. Alive somewhere, not in any _physical_ pain. It was another pain she understood but had never really experienced. His mind was being tortured for knowledge he didn't even have. She just prayed she could find him again before they made him into yet another monster.

The others all looked at Ron, who seemed deathly pale sunken into his seat by her bed. He and Hermione could be twins. "Pansy didn't come back either," he whispered. She didn't think he was capable of speaking any higher. He sounded like he hadn't spoken since he realized he might never see her again. "Even if she had, we wouldn't have known."

"What do you mean?"

Harry felt he had to speak. Ginny was still dealing with the fate of Dumbledore and Ron was dealing with the mess he called his girlfriend. Who would think that having the world's most evil wizard after him be the simplest issue at hand?

"The Order didn't storm Seneca, 'Mione," said Harry, the disdain clear in his voice. "It was the Ministry. Some of us snuck in with the mess but the Ministry ran the show and the Ministry took its prisoners. Didn't matter if they were innocent, if they were secretly with us. They just took everyone to some mass cell in Azkaban. The only reason we know Draco's with the Death Eaters is because the Ministry spent the whole night looking specifically for him. If they'd found him, they would have thrown a parade."

"But then… how…"

Ron cleared his throat and straightened up. "I got to the Order to let them know what you were doing but they already knew. Apparently, Draco morphed into Pansy just as they were arresting him before the trial. Since Moody was with them, they were all ready to come looking for Draco. I just happened to tell them where he was," said Ron.

"I have good news though!" shouted Ginny, just to break the eerie silence. "It's a whole new year! And you're still alive. You gotta admit that when we first realized You-Know-Who was back after Harry all those years ago, none of us expected to live this long."

They all shot her narrowed glares.

Hermione grumbled, "Your optimism disturbs me, Gin. On many, many levels."

She looked around at the infirmary. It wasn't Hogwarts but at least it wasn't the criminal ward either. St. Mungo's. Great. Ron yawned and said, "You go ahead, guys. I'll make sure she doesn't get into trouble."

Reluctantly, Ginny and Harry left. There was a moment of silence and then Ron and Hermione shared a look. Anyone else might ignore it, see it as a meaningless gesture between friends just trying to express their annoyance at the situation. But if one were to look just close enough, they'd see it. That. The mutual decision to take action.

And, if one were smart, one would run away as quickly as possible.

"We have to go to Azkaban, don't we?" mumbled Ron. There wasn't even fear in his voice. There was just determination. He had probably already planned it in his head. The daring rescue, even the way Pansy would look and how he would comfort her afterwards. Hermione could see it in him like a badge of honor. He would run away if it was just him. He would brave it for Pansy.

And, though Hermione added another gold star next to Ron's name in her book, it still had nothing to do with her own mission and her own fight.

Draco wasn't in Azkaban. She knew that her friends were in danger but they could take care of each other. Ron could take care of Pansy, probably find out her cell number from his Dad, and mount the rescue. Ginny would follow her brother and Harry would follow Ginny.

Nobody needed to follow Hermione. She'd face it on her own. She was a monster inside a girl. She could penetrate any gate and break down any lackey. And, if she didn't make it out again, at least she'd be comforted with the knowledge that she took Draco with her, hopefully to a better place.

So, they shared another look and even Ron, who could barely get what a chocolate frog was made of, understood what she meant.

"Be safe," he whispered and reached to squeeze her hand. He bent down to kiss her forehead and spoke into her skin, "My broom is under my seat. It's yours."

He made a loud announcement that he'd be going to get a cup of tea for her and stomped out so the other patients didn't feel the rescue afoot.

She could barely wait fifteen minutes before mounting the damn broom and shoving open the nearest window. There was a large lattice. She was only three floors off the ground and so thought it better to climb down the side of the building than to jump off and hope it works. She got to the grass and realized she was wearing a hospital gown but she just laughed it off. She positioned the gown just right so she could slide the broom between her legs and shut her eyes.

"You can do it, girl," she told herself, instantly feeling like an idiot. "Tap into that Malfoy stupidity that makes him such a good flyer."

She laughed at herself but when she opened her eyes, she was floating a good four feet off the ground. She cursed and came crashing back down. She truly hated heights. Even sissy heights.

She slapped herself playfully and said to herself once again, "Come on, 'Mione girl. It's Draco."

She started to lift again when the irritatingly nasally voice of one Professor Snape, calling her name. She cursed again and fell to the ground, landing on her bum. He came up behind her casually and slapped her across the back of the head.

"Ms. Granger, what in the name of St. Paddy are you doing?" he calmly asked, not bothering to extend a hand to help her up.

Her hair was a curly mess once again and covered her eyes like a curtain. When she looked up and saw old Snape in the usual, tiresome black robes, she pulled the curtain closed again and tried to stand.

She wobbled but made it. "Draco's in danger," she stated, ready to defend her cause.

He just looked at her, waiting for her to elaborate. When she didn't, he said, "And you think getting yourself killed will do him any good?"

"Don't try to talk me out of it, Professor!" she shouted, waving a judgmental finger before his crooked nose.

He raised an eyebrow. "Didn't I make myself clear? You're his mate. Mates shouldn't be torn apart but they shouldn't be allowed in the hands of You-Know-Who either! You are turning yourself over to the enemy, Ms. Granger. In other words, you're being an idiot."

She whined and shut her eyes. "We need to do something, Mr. Snape."

"I agree," he said.

"And I'm not going back into that damn hospital."

"You shouldn't. You're fine."

"Then…"

He sighed and reached into his cloak. Hermione winced, expecting him to pull out his wand and attack. She still didn't trust the old bastard. He pulled out a thick envelope with her name on it. She saw the handwriting and nearly burst out in tears. The broom dropped to the floor.

She looked from him to the envelope and back again, waiting for a confirmation. "He gave me a series of these, one for every possible outcome."

"When did he give them to you?" Hermione whispered, now unable to look at the bloody thing. It just hung there in the air, in Snape's long-fingered hands.

"Last month. At school."

She wrinkled up her face with confusion. "A _month_ ago? How could he possibly have known—Oh God. He's been anticipating this? He's been worried about his capture, his _death_, for a _month_?"

Snape shrugged. "Yes, it does seem odd, doesn't it? He's not exactly the suffer and worry in silence type."

She snapped the envelope away and held it to her chest. "No, he's not the type at all. Have you read these?"

Snape furrowed his brow at the accusation. He didn't seem very insulted because, well, he wasn't. "They're sealed, Ms. Granger," he grumbled, annoyed.

He passed right by her and kept walking as though expecting her to follow. When she didn't, he whirled around and clapped his hands.

"Come on, Granger!" he shouted. She jumped and followed, barefoot on muddy ground. She ran back to grab Ron's broom and nearly slipped.

"Professor, wait! Where are we going?"

She ripped open the envelope as she scurried after him, the broom under her arm. "We're going to a safe place, Ms. Granger. Now keep up."

She looked back at the hospital, at her friends all probably gathered for coffee or tea, trying to figure out how to tell her her mate might have died. Snape had the letters. That had to mean something. There had to be a reason why Draco might want her to follow this man, trust him. She just couldn't see what Draco saw in men of questionable morals. She couldn't relate.

Still, she followed.

It was late at night so she could walk to the floo station with minimal stares. She was still in a hospital gown; her feet were still muddy and squeaked when she walked. She was thankful she didn't have to use the damn broom.

Snape did something with the powder, whispered an incantation she'd never heard before. She'd read about it but never heard it pronounced aloud. He was giving a special location, covert, and didn't want even Hermione to hear. She was beyond suspicion. She had learned now to just let him so what he wanted and she'd figure out later. She learned more just by watching and listening than by being a smartass and asking questions every other second. So long as she had that broom to make a quick getaway, she was better off going in for the ride.

The flames shot a new color and they stepped through. She took a deep breath as if by instinct, breathing in a mouthful of ash. She stumbled forward, tripping over her hospital gown. It ripped at the edges and she bent down to tear off the piece entirely before she tripped on it in the midst of some battle. It was just her luck.

When she looked up, torn cloth in hand, her eyes widened so much that they hurt. She recognized it too easily. The place had special meaning. Not only had she been here to witness a massacre but she'd shed skin and blood here, shed tears for Draco and cries of joy. She knew she'd spent so little time there and yet, it seemed like an endless string of memories, worthy of a lifetime.

"Malfoy Manor?" she whispered, expecting no answer.

"Well of course it is. It's the perfect hiding spot, child," said Snape, pulling her by the sleeve towards a mist-covered corridor. The mist moved like water, almost alive in its waves. It had to be the result of magic. She wondered whether the place had been made to look abandoned on purpose or if this was what wizard houses looked like after the magic left.

She pondered it more as she followed him through the corridors, thought what could possibly make such a dreary place such a good hiding spot. It was true that it was big, so ridiculously so that she somewhat understood why Draco still longed to come back. It was a playground to a kid like him, an explorer. She also understood why it made him such a prissy little ass.

But no. It wasn't the size, she surmised. It was the fact that death had found its way there.

Much like a cemetery, the place made you feel like you too had died, that you should feel great sadness, shed some guilty tears, and leave as soon as possible. Even Snape seemed to feel it. He shivered three times before reaching their destination at the end of a great arched hall. It almost looked like he was shedding some bad aura.

"I thought the Ministry had control of the Manor now," she unknowingly whispered aloud. She was trying to be as quiet as possible till she got a chance to read her letter in full and in private. Then, she'd ask all the questions she wanted.

"It thinks it does. It also thinks the Manor is about two acres smaller than it actually is. Since You-Know-Who took my summer home, I've gotten permission from Narcissa to be here."

He opened a large set of double doors, ones she oddly recognized from somewhere. It felt like déjà vu, like she'd seen it in a dream. It was dark wood, almost black, and engraved with a great battle scene between two lions and two rival animal kingdoms. She had no idea what it meant. Through the doors was a room, similar to one of the many rooms she'd witnessed before. It was grand and tidy but it felt considerably more Spartan than the others. It was as if whoever lived there now was just visiting and couldn't add the homey accents necessary for such a lavish home. Sterling silver picture frames, golden busts of Shakespeare… whatever.

It was just a bed with plain beige linens and a closet. Slippers were on the floor under the bedside table and the only real thing of color he must have added were the curtains. They were jet black, as if to hide the light of day, or hide _him_ from his enemies.

"This section is hidden, Ms. Granger," he said. "You're safe."

She didn't feel safe. She didn't feel safe _anywhere_ anymore, let alone with a crazy former potions professor in his secret lair inside her boyfriend's former palace. The first thing she did when she walked in was check the window through the black curtain to make sure she could bust through the glass and fly out if need be. Or come crashing down to the ground gracelessly. She wasn't picky by that point. She also didn't know how she got to be four stories up without going up any stairs. The place was a maze.

"Here, we can train you without interruption or fear of discovery."

"Train me for what?" she snapped. She was getting tired of people telling her what she could do, couldn't do, how she should behave… She was still hesitant to scream at a professor but gave a little attitude just to make herself feel better.

"To bring Draco back. To make you strong enough to withstand what you're about to witness."

She threw her broom by a sofa near the window and sat down, her arms in the air in surrender. "Are you serious, professor? I've seen my boyfriend attacked by rabid wolves, beaten to a bloody pulp by his classmates, and last you and I saw of him, he was taking on an army single-handedly. How much worse could it possibly get?"

He sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, facing her. He leaned forward onto his knees and, for an instant, dropped his strong face. He seemed so old all of a sudden. She even thought she saw a flicker of emotion besides contempt. It scared the life out of her.

"What is it? What do you know?" she insisted. She mirrored his pose, his furrowed brow.

"Ms. Granger, I did not know the extent of your relationship before, not when it first started. To be perfectly honest, I thought you two had matching lobotomies and forget to tell the rest of the world. But, by all accounts and as you've made publicly known, you _are_ mates. You have a biological prerogative to be together. It also means you have an above than normal psychic ability to sense one another. Am I correct?"

Surely, he'd witnessed it. He heard her shout out for him when he was in pain. Hogwarts was more or less informed of the connection. She didn't see why he needed confirmation all of a sudden.

What had changed?

He saw the question in her eyes and answered, "Ms. Granger, I don't have to have opened the letter to know he's written you a goodbye. He wrote you twenty different goodbyes for twenty different scenarios. He told me to give you this one if—"

"He was captured. Yes, I got that."

He shook his head. "No, Hermione. He asked me to give you that one when they took him back into the fold."

"What do you mean? They would never allow Draco to rejoin the Death Eaters. He's everything they hate now. He's a traitor."

"He's also human!" shouted Snape. She just didn't want to understand. "And human minds can be corrupted. He asked me to train you, Ms. Granger. He asked me to make sure that your mind was as strong as any wall so that… so that when you met again, his evil would not corrupt you. The reports are indisputable, Ms. Granger. You will need to accept it. Draco is a Death Eater again, a killing machine. We can fight but you must be willing to hold strong so the programming doesn't reach you too."

He was astounded by her bravery. She didn't cry, didn't shake. She was angry but she had cause to be angry at a lot of things and a lot of people, especially bureaucrats such as himself. He raised both eyebrows and leaned in a little bit closer, trying to find some reaction in her face. And then he saw it. The smirk. The Malfoy smirk.

"Actually, professor. I think you might just be on to something."

She didn't trust the man but she trusted the logic. The only thing she didn't know was how she was going to stop the pain that grew in her chest the longer she was away from him, one so strong that she was sure neither of them might see the end of it.

_Don't worry. I'm over my crappy week. I was having a post-20__th__ birthday quarter life crisis. Bring on summer vacation though! Will try to update more frequently. If not, annoy me with reviews as usual. Lol. Love to you all. _

**Reviews are better than misplaced optimism. **

_P.S. Also, thank you ffnet for removing all of my dashes and separators, you assholes. In other news, I may write a third part to the saga. We'll see. _


	21. Hallway of Lost Opportunities

**CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:** _Within the Hallway of Lost Opportunities_

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Ginny Weasley sat at a coffee shop across from the train station, waiting for Harry to hurry back from whatever errand Dumbledore had sent him on. She had kindly been asked to stay behind. She sipped her latte in peace and tapped her foot along to the music from the overhead speakers, looking out at nothing in particular. She went to flip her long, red hair up over her shoulder when she caught a few words in a headline.

It took her a second to piece the sentence together: "Ministry of Magic undergoes coup d'état!"

She reached over to the next table, to a pointy-nosed witch with glasses, and snatched the paper from her hands. "May I borrow this?" Ginny asked hurriedly, not waiting for a response. The witch seemed annoyed but, upon seeing Ginny's face, quickly let it go.

Harry caught up with her just then and sat down right in front of her, completely out of breath. "Sorry , dear," he said. "It's happening."

She read over the article silently. Twice.

"Sweetheart, didn't you hear me?" he droned again in the background. She ignored him and pulled something out of her jacket pocket. She handed it to him and leaned in.

"Listen to me, Harry. We've got a situation on our hands. We knew the Ministry was going to happen but we have something I've been holding on, a secret you need to know."

He raised both eyebrows and leaned in as well, taking a look around the area to make sure they were as alone as they were going to get in time of war. "You're scaring me, you know."

She chuckled humorlessly. "I know." She placed the wrinkled, bloody note in his hand and continued, "This was with Hermione's clothes when she arrived at St. Mungo's. I held onto it so they wouldn't discover it but it wasn't my place and with Hermione suddenly disappearing into nowhere, it's our job to make sure it gets to the right hands."

He nodded. "Uhm… OK. To whom?"

"You said Dumbledore was in hiding because of everything that's going on. Who's taken charge of Hogwarts?"

"McGonagall."

She sighed with relief and nodded. Fantastic news. It was someone they could trust. They heard the call of the train in the distance. The Express. They'd be taken home soon. To Hogwarts. To where, according to Dennis Milgrahm's note, the new Ministry was going to attack next.

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Hermione didn't like having to stare into Snape's ungodly eyes for so long but, if it meant she'd master Occlumency all the quicker, she'd bloody well do it. It felt like a week had passed since she left St. Mungo's barefoot and war-worn. It was hard to tell time inside Malfoy Manor. Like a great labyrinth, it held too many secrets and not enough working clocks.

At least, not in whatever secret section they now occupied.

She'd been given her own room right next to Snape's. As Draco's mate, she felt more at home there than possibly her own bed back in London. She felt a connection to it she couldn't place, one too strong to hide with brainwashing and blur away with the distance.

At night, she'd fall asleep comfortably. The wolf would be there in a corner, watching over her. She knew it was Draco and stayed away, as Snape had instructed. If Draco was looking in, so was Voldemort. She'd sit quietly in the darkness and try not to think about anything important. When she felt the warmth of sunlight through her window, she'd tell the wolf she loved him and open her eyes to the new day, sure that he understood and would wait for her rescue among the other wolves just beyond the darkness.

Snape was called away one night to deal with some uprising. It was all she could hear from the whispers in the fireplace from across the room. When he saw her standing there, he quickly sent her off. She'd never been just sent off to wander the manor. She was afraid she'd get lost and, within moments, she was.

She knew not to call out. The manor was more or less abandoned but it was not free of booby traps here and there, meant to warn out the casual intruder. She thought if she got lost long enough, she'd eventually stumble into that room, the nursery no one dared claim as their own.

She knew she was close when she found her wand on the floor before a grand archway. It felt strange in her hand, now so used to Draco's wand. She closed her eyes, held her wand tightly to her chest, and wandered forward to the yellowed hallway of flying bits of paper and ash.

It hadn't changed. She could remember every detail of it. The way the bits of paper floated down like snowflakes made her feel like time had stilled. It also made her deathly anxious because, for the last few days, weeks, or whatever the outside equivalent of time was, she had thought of nothing but getting back to Draco.

This was the first time she'd ever thought that maybe there was no return.

She had no way to go back, no idea what part of the Manor she was in, or who was on the other side of those walls. So she kept going, following bits of her curiosity that threatened to make her even more lost. She knew Draco wouldn't be there to find her this time. She gripped her wand tighter than she should and walked inside.

The longer she lingered in the hallway, the more it began to change, more details began to unravel before her eyes. It was as though the fire were still spreading, still burning, even though she couldn't see it, only its damage.

_It's enchanted,_ she thought. _I can feel it. The air is heavy and stale._

The Death Eater in her head agreed and warned her to back away. She ignored it because she knew it wasn't Draco. He was gone.

She followed the bits of flying paper to their source, the nursery near the stained glass window in the end. She stood at the wide open doorway. The fire began near the window. Instantly, the glass shattered and she heard the sound of something hitting the floor. She didn't move. It wasn't real. It was just a mirage, a ghost trapped in a space and put on repeat.

Whatever charm had caused it to still as it had, it had captured the events and the fire. That meant it was probably an intentional, enchanted fire.

_Who would want to kill a baby that way? _

_Someone trying to send the parents a message. _

She took another step in and the crying began. She heard fabric sizzle, and then the heat hit her face. She raised her wand but it was too late. Her hair was singed by an invisible assailant.

"That's enough!" she screamed at no one in particular. She was tired of fighting air. "_Temper siatos_!"

A gust of wind blew away the glamour and the scene trapped in time began from the beginning.

The fire disappeared. There was only the nursery, large with the crib in the middle. It wasn't a regular crib like Hermione saw in her parents' attic. It was a similar size but the carvings on that thing would make Michelangelo weep with envy. It seemed to be made of the most perfect white marble she had ever seen, with snakes for bars and legs.

A tulle tent hung overhead, with sterling silver toys hanging from the top. The baby inside had to be a few months old and nothing more. It was dressed in blue baby robes with moons embroidered in silver string. His hair was white blond, his eyes gray.

And she knew then, without a doubt, that she was looking into the eyes of baby Draco.

She laughed and tried not to cry. He was so beautiful, so tiny, so innocent. The window broke again and the ghosts began to play. It was a rock bathed in yellow fire, a catalyst. She'd studied that spell in History of Magic. It was invented during the First War to create walls of fire that would ward off enemies but not burn one's soldiers.

It was fire wrapped around a stone and controlled by someone with a sister stone. Someone did it deliberately. This time, she was sure.

In a few moments, the heat of the fire was everywhere and the baby began to cry. Alarms sounded everywhere. A nanny elf came running immediately, saw the fire, and screamed. She ran and got both Lucius and Narcissa. Hermione gasped at their young faces.

Even Narcissa, who knew every youth spell on Earth, had aged so much in so few years. The war had reached her in more ways than one but she was still beautiful. And terrified. Lucius was cold as ever. His eyes showed alert but it was almost as thought he knew it was coming. They both ran about, trying to drown the flames with magic but finding themselves unable.

Narcissa yelled something out to the archway, pointed her wand to the sky, and the flames froze. Everything froze.

She ran through the wreckage to the middle of the room, to the marble crib where Draco continued to cry. Lucius scowled from the doorway, immoveable. Not even to save his son. Hermione could more or less see his thinking process. If this child died, he'd count it as a sacrifice in the name of the Dark Lord. Then he'd just have another one. Children were probably as expendable to him as a new coat, only more fun to conceive.

Narcissa was and would always be the only one in tears.

The ghost of her slapped the ghost of him and rushed down the hall with her child. Lucius continued to stare into the frozen room as though looking for something or someone. His flickering image took a step in, wand raised and poised to attack. Hermione moved off to the wall, sensing the danger he felt. It was the true ghost in the air, a malevolent spirit.

"Step out!" hissed Lucius. "I know you're there, Halton!"

A wizard dressed in black stepped out from under an invisibility cloak. "You had it coming, Malfoy," said Halton.

"You messed with my CHILD! I have always made my allegiances known. The Dark Lord knows I would never—"

Halton pulled out his own wand, looking bored but ever so slightly alert. He knew this was the end. He was just the messenger. Hermione knew what was coming and so, closed her eyes. She still heard the words, the deathly spells flying through the air like broken promises, followed by the body on the floor.

She opened her eyes, knowing all too well who had lived. The room was once again raining bits of paper and she realized by the scorch mark on the far left wall that Halton had hit the baby books on the shelves, sending them asunder.

The scene stopped playing and Hermione was back in the nursery. She sighed in hopes that it would calm her tremors and slid down the wall. She pulled up her wand again and restarted the room's memory. She froze it before the rock crashed through the window and, a few minutes later, walked up to the crib. She moved the chair near the window closer to the baby and leaned her cheek against the cold marble.

She watched the frozen image of the memory for some time, fighting the urge to cry. At some point, she began to sing to him, allowing herself to believe she was once again reunited with the last good bit of Draco left in the world.

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Harry and Ron paced in front of the entrance to Dumbledore's office. Apparently, Ginny wanted to speak to McGonagall in private, which made absolutely no sense to her hoard of protectors. Ron looked at Harry with a furrowed brow as they passed by each other.

"Did she tell you anything else?" growled Ron.

Harry shook his head. "She just showed me the note from Milgrahm and we decided we had to come to McGonagall and tell her what's going on and that Hermione's missing and Malfoy's back with the Death Eaters, though she probably knows that one, and well… that's about it."

Ron's eyes turned big as saucers. "Nothing else? Nothing to explain why she might be up there?"

Harry gulped and moved them towards the wall for support. He had no way of knowing how Ron might react. Softly, he began, "Ron, you know how I've been meeting with Dumbledore a lot?"

Ron nodded, trying to connect the invisible dots.

"He's been… err, trying to pass on his knowledge before—"

"Before what?"

Harry gulped and gave it a moment for absolute absorption. "He's dying, Ron."

Another moment passed. "Whoa."

Harry snorted. "Yes, Ron. That would be how _you'd_ react."

He went to elaborate when Ginny appeared before them, her fear tear-stained but victorious nonetheless. "Let's go!" she shouted, her usual cheery self breaking past recent events.

"Go where?" the boys asked in unison.

She smirked devilishly. "To class, of course. McGonagall's got it covered for once. At last, an administrator not controlled by prophecies and the belief that kids can take care of themselves. I have no idea how this school hasn't been invaded before."

They followed after her, astounded. Harry caught up and wrapped his arm around her waist, as natural a gesture as breathing. He pulled her aside and shoved her into a nearby classroom, locking Ron outside. He pounded on the door outside as the couple talked.

"Talk to me, Gin," he asked seriously. She smiled, falsely. He saw right through it. He lifted her by the waist and sat her on a desk. He sat down beside her and took her hand. "Did she really say we should go back to class?"

She nodded. "They had no idea Hogwarts was the target. They always assume they want to get to you but this is the safest place on Earth. You'd have to be an idiot to attack you here."

"The day written on the paper, we're scheduled to be at Hogsmeade. Do you think they'll attack there? What if they're not after me?" he asked, a tiny bit of hope in his voice. He quickly controlled himself. Harry knew not to allow himself to hope. It was only recently he even allowed himself to love. After the moment passed, the reality set in. They were after something besides him, which meant the big battle hadn't yet arrived. They were after something _inside_ Hogwarts.

And someone _inside_ Hogwarts had to let them in.

"Why can't we tell Ron?" he asked.

"McGonagall said no one. I told you because, well, you're you and I… Uhm… I—"

He put his arm over her shoulder and slid her closer on the desktop. He scoffed and whispered into her hair, "I love you too. No matter what happens."

She nodded. "You know what they're after, don't you?"

He shrugged. "They've got one half of the perfect weapon," said Ginny. "They think we have the other half, Harry. Mates. They're after Hermione and they don't want us to know."

He raked his fingers through his hair and exhaled every shred of hope he had accumulated. It was no better that Hermione might be the target. He didn't wish his life on anybody, but it seemed she had walked into it all by herself.

"We have to protect her."

"We don't know where she is."

"But Draco would, wouldn't he?" said Harry, jumping off the desk to look at Ginny face to face. Ron knocked quickly on the door outside, shouting about having his feelings hurt and that they best not be making out. The epiphany was clear in Harry's eyes. He ignored all the other sounds around him and locked gazes with Ginny.

She didn't need to say it out loud because they could read it in each other's eyes, in a way only Draco and Hermione could best. Still, she said it. "If Draco is really her mate, he can sense where she is anywhere in the world. If she's really the target, they might not come here after all."

"Unless…" added Harry cautiously, "Draco isn't really working with them. If they're on their way here, at least we know we've still got a man on the inside."

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_So now you know! The note had a date that the Death Eaters would be attacking Hogwarts. Whether it's a decoy or real is yet to be revealed. If I were McGonagall, I wouldn't buy the word of a turncoat so easily. The important thing is that the kids will not be responsible for stopping them. That'd just be silly. For one, Ron's wand still keeps imploding from time to time. Uhm, awesome, sexy reunion coming up next chapter. I apologize for the delay. Blame the boyfriend. Love to you all. _


	22. In Love and War

**CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO:** _In Love and War_

_The boyfriend apologizes for stealing me away for so long. Work continues to remain unapologetic. Enjoy! Also, I'm publishing one of my original novels, called _"How to Lose Yourself in One Year or Less."_ How many of you would be interested in buying it or reading a sample chapter? Just review or message. I'm doing a survey to see how many would go through Amazon and the like. Check out the cover, synopsis… at the official Facebook fanpage. Link is on my profile. _

_Forgive the sad chapter. _

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Draco curled up on the floor, hiding from the cold slowly spreading through his fur to the shameful soft skin beneath. It was Voldemort's inner chamber but it might as well have been a prison. The floors were green and black marble and, to Draco, counting them was his only entertainment and only reason he wasn't running into the wall face-first.

He couldn't move, couldn't show any sign that he remembered, that he could change back. He just rested and focused, pretending the animal mind had left him a thoughtless slave. It was the only way he could keep his mind and therefore Hermione's safe from their mind tricks. At least, he hoped.

If he fell asleep, he could see through Hermione's eyes the way he once did back at Hogwarts, making him an easy spy. He could even feel what she felt, and she felt miserable. But he couldn't do a thing from there and he accepted that she had to continue to feel this way if it meant she'd be safe.

He could only comfort himself with the thought that he knew exactly where she was. Malfoy Manor. He knew every molding in that blasted place. He watched as she entered the lost hallway, one he knew had been made lost. He knew memories existed of the place. He didn't know the _place_ still held the memories. He didn't know what his father had done to merit such retribution on the eve of the death of Lily and James Potter, but it had to be big.

"Draco!" called Voldemort from his chair by the fireplace, waving him closer.

It snapped him out of his thoughts. Draco lifted his head quickly, eager to respond the way he'd once responded to his father. Eager to please. He never hated himself more.

He practically crawled to Voldemort's clammy feet and lowered his large head to the floor, exposing himself. His father had once told him never to bow to anyone. That's how you end up with a sword through your skull, just like Great Uncle Marvin Malfoy. They'd burned him out of the family tree for sheer stupidity.

"Draco, you grow tired, I see," said Voldemort.

Before Draco could whine his answer, a Death Eater in the background responded, "Mates grow ill when separated. I've never seen it but it seems logical."

Voldemort raised his wand and sent the Death Eater across the room. "Do not speak out of turn!"

The man crawled away with a broken leg, the shattered bone scratching at the marble. Two others dragged him off, not an ounce of emotion in their faces. Something human had been drained from them. Draco feared the same was happening to him, especially as he looked upon Voldemort's snake-like face.

"Now… Draco. Are you prepared to turn back now?"

The wolf in him whined. It wasn't a matter of keeping himself a monster anymore. He really thought he had no choice. Voldemort seemed to read the eyes of the wolf.

"Fine, then. Your tracking skills only work as a wolf anyway." Voldemort scowled and drank a foul-smelling potion. It made Draco's sensitive nose burn from a distance. "Don't worry. You'll be reunited with your mate again. And through her, we'll take Hogwarts."

Draco gave a whine of protest. It escaped, low but still audible. Voldemort narrowed his eyes at him and picked up his wand off the edge of his seat. Draco didn't move. He barely flinched his muzzle. Voldemort respected fearlessness in his subjects. But, more than anything, he respected loyalty.

Draco bent his front legs in a small bow, only noticeable to the disparaging eyes before him.

"Very good, child. I think you're ready."

He tilted his head to the right questioningly. _For what?_

Voldemort turned towards two guards by the door. "Bring the prisoner," he told them.

They nodded and went to get a man from one of the prisons next door as Draco waited patiently. When you're a big scary monster, it's easy to relax in a corner knowing mostly everything is smaller than you and thus less likely to want to kill you. He used to think that would be the worst part, the scary part. Dying without her.

Then they lifted the prisoner's head and swept his shaggy hair back. He was thinner than Draco remembered, paler, but it the same broken man that once tried to teach him Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Professor Lupin.

Draco sat up pin straight. Tense. He knew what was coming. Voldemort point his wand to Lupin and, without a word, chained him to two poles in the middle of the room. He turned to Draco and stepped aside, gesturing for him to fulfill his duty as a Death Eater.

"Kill him," said Voldemort lightly.

Draco hesitated only a second. Any longer would have raised too much suspicion. This was a test, just another test. If he was lucky, Voldemort would stop him before he did the real damage.

Who am I kidding? He'll watch the kill and laugh.

Draco walked slowly towards Lupin, feigning an injured leg and a loss of his mate. Lupin knelt as best he could, bravely facing the boy in demon's clothing. He tilted his neck to the side and said, "Do it quickly."

Draco didn't give Voldemort a chance to object or to give someone else the job. Anyone else would torture the man on end, driving him mad from pain before killing him. There was no going back. He just hoped that, afterwards, he could get back to his corner. He hoped his value would be proven to his enemy and he could open up his mind to Hermione, to allow her to heal his broken soul before there was nothing left of him to save.

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Hermione continued to sit and stare at the phantom child until it and the sounds disappeared. She was lulled away by the silence. For a moment, all was dark and calm. Her soul felt peaceful, her heartbeat slow.

An infinite moment passed and everything changed. The comfortable darkness, temporarily empty, filled up with something red and violent.

Fear.

Pain.

Evil with a lover's face.

Draco was calling out past the image of the wolf. He was trapped, she saw, but he was also trying to get across for the first time since his capture. He was trying to tell her something, as though fleeing from reality inside her mind.

She created a safe room for them.

It was simple, square, with checkerboard floors and red walls. She imagined up a table for them in the center with a white tablecloth. She sat his shadow across from her and waited for his eyes to open and look at her once more. They refused. They never opened so no one could look in.

"This isn't a safe channel anymore, Hermione," the shadow whispered in her lover's voice. The mouth didn't open. All she saw was thin darkness in the faint outline of her boy. Through him, she saw the imaginary wall behind him, just her mind telling her he wasn't real and he wasn't hers. He, like the baby that disappeared before her, was just a remnant of the true boy.

"I know," she whispered back. "I just… Why are you trying to reach me now?"

The shadow waited. Its hands moved palm down on the table, inching closer to her like spiders' legs.

"He trusts me. He thinks the wolf has taken over and I am his."

She sighed, trying desperately to believe him. "Why hasn't it? How do I know it hasn't and you're just his puppet?"

The shadow smiled. She wasn't sure what she was seeing but she felt the warmth his smile radiated caving in her chest and making her believe.

"Because I have you, 'Mione," it whispered. "Nothing breaks us."

It took her a second to reply with complete certainty, "What do you need?"

The shadow smiled again. It told her a plan. It was stupid but what Malfoy plan wasn't. It was detailed but Hermione would remember. And it was brilliant, because it took everything he had to conceal it. If anything, they had the element of surprise on their hands.

She then stood and walked around his chair, trying to find the real in the mental. "I need help," she said. "I'm in the nursery again. I don't know how I'm going to get out."

She felt the smile again. The walls of her little room dropped like crate pieces to the floor. She felt herself awaken and jumped. The shadow was still there, in the corner of her eyes, just out of view, but she was now outside the dream.

_Follow me,_ the shadow whispered.

It led her to a door in the hallway just outside the nursery. She felt eyes upon her there, an eerie sense of foreboding. The shadow told her to ignore it. She went on as if nothing through the whispering room, towards the other side of the Manor.

_It's dangerous here_, she hissed inside her head.

The shadow chuckled. _War means nowhere is safe. But don't worry. I'm here… Make a left. Go straight. Snape will be there, looking for you. _

She blinked and the little shadow in the corner of her eye making her feel like he was watching over her shoulder was gone. And she missed him again, just like the first time.

She heard Snape's voice in the distance, calling her name. "Young lady, do you know how long I've been looking for you! It's been _hours_!"

She laughed a little, still in a trance to recover her beloved shadow boy. Snape sounded like her father after she got lost at the grocery store when she was five. She wasn't really lost. She was at the book and magazine section reading Newsweek. They just didn't know that.

"I'm fine. I got stuck in this hallway. This place is a maze with booby traps."

He nodded and placed a hand on her shoulder. She could see his chest heave as though relieved of a great weight. He couldn't speak.

"You were really scared, weren't you?" she said. "You were worried about me?"

It seemed hard to believe even for him. She could tell by the size of his eyes.

"You don't understand," he huffed, placing both hands on her shoulder and bringing her closer. "If the Dark Lord had found you – or any part of the Ministry, in fact – it would mean…"

"Yes?"

"It could mean the end of this war, Ms. Granger."

She scoffed and walked past him, back to their little sanctuary. "I see _you_ believe that, Professor, but you must understand why _I_ will never."

He shook his head, tired and aching for it all to end. He cursed something about Dumbledore but Hermione was too far away to hear.

As soon as she got back to the room, she gathered her few little things, mainly the weapons she'd been training to use. She placed her wand in her cloak pocket and fastened what could only be described as a utility belt low on her hips. She filled the little pockets with potions from Snape's closet (the man had more powdery things than actual clothing) and stood in front of a quickly conjured mirror.

She looked half-dead, but fully determined. Her hair was starting to stand up again so she pulled it back into a tight bun. She reminded herself of Professor McGonagall. All war, no game. She wore a white blouse tucked into some black pants she presumed were once Draco's. It scared her how well they fit. She charmed her belt to disappear and pulled her cloak around her like a robe.

"Time for school," she told herself.

She looked at the window and it broke apart on its own. Something was different about her. She wasn't alone anymore, and Draco wasn't Draco anymore. Something was stronger. Whether it was their connection or themselves, it made her fearless.

She didn't bother with a broom. She jumped out the window, perfectly aware that she would land feet first. Air gathered under her soles and, as though on some invisible staircase, lowered herself safely down.

"Granger!" Snape yelled from above. He nearly threw himself out the window after her. She looked up but didn't move backwards. She waved and went on her way, faster than the human eye could follow.

Snape pulled himself upright and whispered to himself, "Dear God, it's beginning. She's changing."

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_What would you name the big finale story? Lilies, legacy, laughter…? Help? And don't forget to become a fan of the official _Lose Yourself_ Facebook page! _

**Reviews are better than knowing someone's there to guide you through anything. Almost. **


	23. Waiting for the End

**Chapter 23: **_Waiting for the End_

_I take my last note back. I _will_ keep posting fanfics. No point in denying me something I love. And, I'll still be doing the continuation to this one, if I don't decide to kill off Draco and Hermione. Let's see how this goes. This story is officially going to be 30 chapters long. Enjoy!_

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Hermione ran as fast as she could, until she realized she was running on four paws, not two legs. She cursed to herself but it came out as a low growl. It was another one of those few times she truly resented Draco for having turned her all those months ago.

_Draco, you're so lucky I love you, you prat,_ she thought for the hundredth time, but there was no one on the other side anymore to listen. There wasn't even the shadow of him. She closed her eyes and the world was just dark, but for the shimmer of her own hopes keeping her on her way.

It was pitch black in London and she'd ripped through her gown. She wandered the streets covered in fur, too quick for others' human eyes, not that there were many people in the vicinity of Club Daemos. Their clientele used to come in around the back. She figured they'd made an ally in Lulu, the burlesque girl, and she could use their secret chimney to make it back to Hogsmeade.

She entered the abandoned café, or so it appeared from the front, only to find the place empty. It was completely different than she remembered. For one, it was clean. And, as far as she remembered, whorehouses were usually open exclusively at night, not day.

For a moment, she chose to forget that the little minx responsible had been her mate's third lover. She needed to be proud of something that night.

She prowled through the back hallways and made it to the fireplace downstairs. It was intact. She waited a moment for her minds to shift but they never did. She cursed again and walked off towards a stack of pillows left over from the brothel years.

She lied down and rested her muzzle, trying to fall asleep. She hoped she'd see Draco in her dreams but it seemed unlikely. He'd cut off contact, just like he said he would.

She kept her ears open. Someone was walking outside, an old couple making their way home after visiting their grandchildren. She smiled, trying to imagine herself as the old woman, complaining about how her daughter spoiled her grandson by buying him that broom. A daughter. Ha. Hermione didn't even plan on living to see next month.

She waited for the change to come. She listened to her heartbeat as though a metronome, lulling her thoughts away. She didn't quite fall asleep but, a half hour later, her tears fell on skin, not fur.

"Damn it, Hermione," she mumbled to herself as she stood. "Stop crying. You're not a little kid anymore."

She got the handful of floo powder from beside the fireplace and threw it down into the ashes at her bare feet. She called out her location and, in an instant, she was at Fred and George's store.

She coughed and stumbled out. The store was closed but she could hear the twins upstairs, moving about. She tripped over herself twice but finally managed to get up to their door. She knocked. Once. Twice.

George opened the door in his tuxedo best. "Hermione?" he mumbled through a mouthful of toast and jam. He looked back and shouted into the house, "Fred, we have a naked girl at the door. And she's _filthy_!"

Hermione covered herself up but there was really nothing around large enough to cover all necessary parts. Her hair wasn't even long anymore.

Fred jumped out of the bathroom in a ridiculously fluffy blood red robe that made him look like a pimp out of Queens, screaming, "Is it Angie?"

When Fred saw her standing in their doorway, he instantly covered his eyes. Hermione didn't know whether to be insulted or relieved. He even started to shout that his eyes were burning. George handed her a silky bathrobe though she needed a bath a lot more urgently than she needed to cover up. She held it up against her but didn't put it on.

"Just lead me to the bathroom," she growled. Her voice came out hoarse, deep.

Fred dramatically stepped out of her way while George pretended not to check her out from behind. She shut the door loudly, a warning for them to stay as far away as possible.

She took her time in the bath. She transfigured one of the boys' bathrobes into a simple wrap-up dress and headed out to the living room. Shyly, she whispered her goodbye and left the boys stunned, full of questions, and a little horny.

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She landed in Dumbledore's office within a cloud of green ash and smoke. McGonagall was waiting for her with Draco's note and a smug expression.

"I can explain!" shouted Hermione, her hands in the air as though McGonagall held a loaded gun.

The new headmistress shook her head and walked calmly over to her favorite student. They stared at each other for a moment, a battle of wills to see who'd speak first. Just as Hermione was about to take a deep breath and explain what held no reasonable explanation, an owl came crashing into the window.

McGonagall sighed, shook her head, and whispered to herself, "That's the third time he's done that today."

She dismissed Hermione with a wave of a hand and went to open the window. Apparently, whatever news the disoriented owl carried was more important than any one student's indiscretions, even if it was the resident werewolf.

Hermione dashed off, tip-toeing as if trying to keep the monster in McGonagall appeased. She reached the gargoyles outside the office and relaxed at last, finding comfort in the familiar dreary walls and moving portraits, in the fear of being caught and the delight in seeing her friends again. At the thought of them, she ran through the halls towards the Gryffindor Common Room, desperate for human interaction.

She got to the portrait and froze, realizing she had no idea what the password was. She stared at the Fat Lady, waiting for it to come to her. She heard two other students pass by and waited for them to open the door. It was the Patil twins. She covered her face as much as she could with her hair but they still recognized her.

"Hermione!" shouted Pavrati. "We didn't see you on the train! Where have you been?"

She cleared her throat and pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear, anything to buy time. "Uhm… well… I was on a retreat in London, trying to clear my head. Spent the holidays with Draco and whatnot."

"Really? Is that so?" asked Padma.

Pavrati snorted and crossed her arms. "Then you must have been working with the Ministry because Draco's on the news everywhere. Isn't it true he's an escaped fugitive responsible for the deaths of two men?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," replied Hermione, gritting her teeth to control the wolf. She was sure nobody cared if the twins survived but it'd still be bad karma to kill them with her bare hands.

The twins said the password together. It was toffee, which made Hermione feel stupid for not thinking of it. It was such a simple word. They scurried off quickly, going to spread the news of her arrival. Hermione wouldn't be surprised if, within half an hour, they had a whole mob arranged with pitchforks and wands and an array of the latest rainbow-flame torches from the Weasley boys' shop.

She ran upstairs in search of Harry. She caught an eyeful of Neville's butt instead, followed by his girlish scream. He covered up and pointed towards the stairs. "They're in the dining room, Hermione! For Christ's sake! Get out!"

She checked the girls' dormitory just in case Ginny was there, but she knew well that where Harry was, Ginny would surely be.

She borrowed one of Ginny's uniforms since all her things were still at Grimmauld Place and hurried down the stairs, stupidly praying no one would recognize her. She didn't know what a few days' press could do to one's reputation. As she walked the halls, she felt like a foreigner among them. She no longer considered herself human and, despite her years as a seeker of knowledge, she couldn't even fathom sitting for class. She'd sooner kill herself.

She walked through the Great Hall as a ghost on a mission. The stares, she'd been used to. It came with dating a Malfoy. At the sight of Harry and the others, she forgot they weren't alone. Seamus tapped Harry on the shoulder and pointed at Hermione coming down the way. They all stood for her and ran to catch her, ready to wrap their arms around her. She flinched at the collision but laughed nonetheless.

"You crazy little witch!" shouted Ron, pushing Harry out of the way to hug her next. Ginny followed, slapping Ron over the head to get him out of the way. He didn't even complain. Pansy lingered back but, after Ginny parted, Hermione opened her arms out to her.

"Hey you, sister wolf," whispered Pansy in her ear. "You've been missed. Not by me, mind you, but missed nonetheless."

Hermione laughed and nodded towards the entrance to the hall, gesturing for them to talk outside. The four hurried after her to the first abandoned classroom they could find. Ginny shut the door behind them and enchanted the room to make it soundproof. She knew even the most inconsequential student would find interest in the conversation they were about to have.

Hermione was now the mate of an escaped fugitive, a crucial witness in a trial, and a now socially registered werewolf. That kind of juicy gossip was worth a lot to bored people everywhere.

"What's going on, Hermione? Where have you been?" asked Harry calmly, despite his deep desire to know.

"I've been at Malfoy Manor. With Professor Snape."

They all looked to each other. Ginny stepped forward and held her hand. "Did he hurt you?" she asked.

Hermione scoffed. "With what? His shriveling manhood? No, he just helped me with Occlumency and things like that, to defend against the Dark Lord."

Harry cleared his throat. "Hermione, he's being hunted by the Order _and_ the Ministry. They think he's gone insane."

She shook her head. "No more than he was before. He's worried about me. He says the Dark Lord is after me, trying to get mates together to use as weapons."

Even Ron nodded. Harry spoke for them all, "We know. We put it together. Milgrahm's note told us they'd be attacking Hogwarts soon. They wouldn't do that unless they had someone on the inside. We suspected Snape but then he didn't show up after holiday break. And now, Dumbledore's disappeared too. They're obviously poising Hogwarts for an attack but, without Dumbledore here, what's there here for them if not you."

"And you," said Hermione to Harry. "The Dark Lord has always wanted you."

He shook his head. "Our class is scheduled to be at Hogsmeade that day. We're wondering if he wants something else, something physical that we don't know about. Something "

"But they didn't drive Dumbledore away," added Ron. "He left because… well, he's dying."

"Why is Dumbledore dying?" asked Hermione, alarmed. Everyone turned to Harry, who shrugged. "What, he just is? What kind of illness is that?"

"The kind that Dumbledore doesn't want to share. So let's leave it at that," said Ginny through gritted teeth.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. "Oh God. Please don't let it be something humiliating like an STD or foot fungus. I mean, if we lose the war over something like that, I am going to be royally mad."

Ron fought the urge to laugh. STDs were not a laughing matter, much less foot fungus. His uncle, twice removed, had died of foot fungus.

"It's none of our business," Ginny murmured, hiding her face in Harry's chest.

"It's true," he agreed. "Let's just think about the last year. Voldemort is back, thanks to the late Pettigrew. He invades the Ministry, looking for the prophecy that says me and him are going to go head to head, which means I'm still very much a target and it's still going to come down to him and me. But, he also let Malfoy Senior get caught up in jail and takes revenge on him by kidnapping his wife and son and turning Draco into a werewolf. Right?"

Hermione nodded and continued for him, "We know that he turned him to spread the werewolf curse to others at Hogwarts, knowing Dumbledore would of course admit him into the school the way he did Lupin. Pettigrew would have probably assured him of it. Lucky for us, Draco was rescued by the Order, not the Ministry, and he ended up turning me and not some poor sap."

"That must have changed his plans," said Ginny, cuddling closer to Harry. "I mean, there was no way he'd know you two would become mate. You would have killed each other a year ago."

Hermione nodded. "He must have improvised. But there's more. The Malfoy Manor Massacre wasn't just an accident. He trapped those people there on purpose to turn them into monsters. He needs more wolves for some reason."

Ron lifted his hand as though in class. Hermione narrowed his eyes at him. "You don't have to raise your hand, Ron," said Ginny.

He shrugged. "You were on a roll. I didn't want to be rude. But, here's the thing. He's taken over the Ministry, _and_ Azkaban. He's already more powerful than he was all those years ago and no one can touch him because he's surrounded by his werewolf army. However, he's been taking prisoners out of Azkaban for months, since they kidnapped Mrs. M and took over Seneca, so he's got plenty of people. What if the reason he's been turning people all this time is because he was looking for just the perfect combination? I mean, why keep them locked up and change how and when they shift if he's not looking for something special."

"Mates," Harry whispered.

Hermione waited for them to tell her what it meant but nobody ever did. She gestured for Harry to continue but he couldn't from there. She let the room go silent so she could think and come to her own conclusions. "It'd explain why they framed Draco at school, by turning Pansy, and then with a trial. If they got him, they could easily get me too. It hurts to be parted for too long. But, what if they don't need a mated pair because of how powerful we are? What if they need us because of something else? "

Silence overtook them again. Hermione hated not knowing everything.

"We've got two days before they attack Hogwarts, right?" whispered Ginny.

Hermione nodded. "And that means only one thing. We've got to hit the library."

She didn't sleep for all two days. Snape had warned her that Draco could get into her mind that way. And, if Draco could, so could Voldemort. Also, the pain of separation had turned into a very physical ache in her stomach, one that kept even the drowsiest person alert for days and, eventually, begging for death.

Instead of sleeping, she spent her nights beneath Harry's Invisibility Cloak, researching every book on werewolves she could find. There were a lot of them but she'd become a professional skimmer since the Goblet of Fire incident. Research had saved their lives too many times to count.

She found one particular book by Jasper Hufsey, mate expert. He was the living authority on lycanthropy and had authored several other books she'd read during the past few months. In one of the books in her collection, he had talked about bones he'd found in odd ritualistic positions.

_The bones were displayed like lovers in bed, spooning one last time. They are over two thousand years old and still, they appear as though they simply went to bed and never woke up. Given the relatively lavish ruins they were found in, one can safely assume that these cases involve only pure-blooded _arranged mates_ and not less-prevailing _wild mates_ who would probably not have been allowed to hold a residence. It is speculated that werewolves might have a shorter lifespan because of their curse that might be related to their sleeping patterns as well as the full moon. _

He wasn't the only one to mention it. Three other archaeologists spoke about the bones. She could only find two of the books. The last one was in the restricted section. Her second night, she went in search of Dano Cartwright's _Werewolf Mythology and Studies on the Unconscious Mind_.

Though it was controversial and very rarely accepted, something caught her eye.

_Werewolves have rarely been bred in history due to their highly explosive behavior on the full moon. Also, they are only ever useful as weapons once a month. The only record that can be found of a successful attempt at domestication was on part of Salazar Slytherin during Medieval times. _

_He was said to own a castle dedicated entirely to the raising of werewolves. He would later abandon the practice due to his involvement in the founding of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The other founders, especially Rowena Ravenclaw, refused to be involved with someone who farmed human beings for their unproven psychic abilities. Still, before he dismantled his vast forces, it is believed that he had achieved a way to control the shifting process at will. _

She pulled the cloak over her arms and ran back to Gryffindor Tower, slipping on the steps and practically eating her weight in books. She covered Ginny's mouth with her hand, muffling her should she scream.

"It's me, Gin," she whispered, kneeling at her bedside. "I think I know what Voldemort's after. We need to get Harry. Get everybody. We've got to open the Chamber of Secrets."

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_I'm posting some original short stories at _my personal website_. Together, they're called The Companion Short Story Collection. Next one's being posted this Thanksgiving. If you like my writing, check it out. Links are on my profile. I promise a reunion next chapter. _

**Reviews are better than naked girls at the door. **


	24. The End Commeth

**Chapter 24: **_The End Commeth_

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Ginny gathered Harry, Ron, and the boys, while Hermione woke up Luna and the other members of Dumbledore's Army. Somehow, they didn't seem surprised to see her at their bedside at 5:00 in the morning. It just came with being at war. They knew they'd be called to action soon enough.

Thirty minutes later, they found themselves in the bathroom above the Chamber of Secrets, crowded and trying to avoid hitting each other in the gut with a loose wand or deadly elbow.

"What the hell are we doing here?" screeched Cho Chang, who seemed mad that she hadn't been able to put on make-up in time. If Hermione hadn't told them they'd be attacked in less than twelve hours, nobody would have bothered rushing.

Hermione cleared her throat and stood on a broken toilet that had been flipped on its side. "We're here to protect the school. You-Know-Who is on his way. The professor and the Order of the Phoenix have been informed. Sort of."

A large collective gasp made her pause and roll her eyes. Ron hit his wand against the tile wall, shutting them up. Hermione gave him a curt nod, a thank you for reclaiming their attention, and continued with her impromptu speech. She really wished she'd had time to write down some inspirational drafts before having to speak.

"I've come across some research on Salazar Slytherin that leads me to believe Voldemort is here to physically reclaim the Chamber of Secrets."

Neville fainted and hit his head on a stall door. Ron snorted and went to help him up, sitting him on one of the toilets till he got his footing back.

"You have all been trained," shouted Harry. "I believe in your abilities and in your desire to defend this school. We are all that stands between Voldemort and whatever is inside there that he hasn't been able to open before."

"What's _her_ involvement in all this?" asked Moaning Myrtle, who hung in the far back, ecstatic to have company but annoyed at the world as always.

Everyone looked to Hermione, who blushed and lowered herself off her broken toilet seat soapbox. "I am a werewolf," she admitted. Again, a smaller collective gasp made her pause. "Oh shut up. You all knew that. You all read the bloody newspapers. Voldemort turned Draco Malfoy during the summer and I was collateral damage. But, we somehow evolved into exactly what he was looking for. We are honest to goodness mates, probably the first in at least a century, and he needs us for something involving whatever is inside there."

"So you have no idea what he wants?" asked Neville, still woozy in his stall. "How do you even know he's after the Chamber of Secrets? He could be after a kitchen elf for all we know."

Everyone went from looking at Neville to glaring at Hermione. "Salazar Slytherin was the last recorded person to domesticate werewolves, and the only one to alter their ability to shift. This place is the only thing Slytherin left behind and the only thing of his Voldemort's ever showed any interest in, besides Harry."

Ron shrugged. "It makes sense. It's a leap. It's true he might just be after a kitchen elf but, well, it's an honest conclusion."

Harry took his chance and stood on Hermione's vacated toilet seat soapbox. "It's up to us to defend this location. The Order doesn't know this is the target. Voldemort won't go straight to it, to avoid suspicion. He'll thin the forces then charge here when Hogwarts is conquered. If he's desperate, he'll come here himself but he'll never come alone. He's corporeal now."

He laid out plans and went over attack spells. Meanwhile, Hermione practically crawled her way back to the room she once shared with Draco. It was the first time she'd even stepped onto the same floor as her room. It meant she'd have to think of him again, miss him, and she knew the pain might just be enough to kill her.

She stumbled into her room, blinded by the light. She hadn't realized that she'd left the sconces on. Her bed seemed welcoming but foreign. This wasn't home without Draco. She headed to the bathroom to take her first bath since her show to Fred and George, when she heard the rustle of sheets in the dead quiet of the floor.

She held her heart, accidentally digging her fingernails into her bare skin. She nearly shifted out of fright.

She held the knob to Draco's room with soft fingers, terrified of what she'd see on the other side. More than anything, she was afraid her mind was playing tricks on her, a side-effect of being ripped from her mate. She almost wish she were, for chance she might see even a ghost of him again.

She opened the door and gasped at the sight of his back, his hair, his right foot hanging off the mattress.

"Draco," she whispered, dragging her weary legs toward his bed. She held onto the bedpost but she nearly slid down the post from exhaustion. Having him so close again made the pain dwindle just a bit, but the damage seemed done. She fell at his feet, waking him.

He sat up quickly and pulled her onto the bed. He held her face in his hands, gently urging her to wake. "'Mione, it's me," he said, a small smile on his lips. "I'm here. I'm really here."

She gasped, reawakened by his electric touch. She pushed him off and pulled her wand from her cloak. "Get away from me. Who are you?"

"It's me!" he shouted. "I was a wolf until you walked through your door. How did you do that?"

"I wasn't able to turn back myself until I thought of you and laid to rest. But how did you even get here?"

"I came through the floo at Grimmauld Place. It's been taken over, as planned. I torched the floo after me and crashed into McGonagall's office. She locked me in here till she could figure out what to do with me, probably."

"They know you're not working with them?"

"I don't think they know I'm gone. The wolves just aim for the blood. They're led by Blaise, who can't tell a dog from a cat. They're coming straight here though. We've got five hours at the most."

"Did you find out where they're coming from?"

"They're walking right through the front door, Hermione. They have someone on the inside who's going to get to McGonagall. The headmistress can lower the spells around the school at any time."

Hermione cursed and sat back down on the bed, staring at her hands on her lap. "He's after the Chamber of Secrets, we think."

He nodded. "I think so too."

"You're filthy," she mumbled suddenly, too tired to worry about war just that second. The pain was dwindling. Its sudden absence numbed her body and mind. She collapsed into his torso, wrapping her arms around his bare skin as though they'd never parted.

He caressed her messy hair then started to pull off her wrinkled blouse. "I know. God, Hermione. It feels like I haven't slept in months. Another day without you and I'd have fallen dead for sure."

She moaned, vibrating the skin just above his bellybutton. He tried not to laugh. The elation of seeing her again was cutting the exhaustion to bits and he was desperate to bring her back to life too. He pushed her away from his torso and rested his forehead with hers.

"You'll wake up, won't you, love of mine?" he whispered warmly, caressing her face with his dirt-stained fingers.

She nodded and opened her eyes, gasping again at the surge of energy she felt. "I'll wake for _you_."

He pulled her up onto her feet and held her as though they might begin to waltz right then and there. She laughed for the first time in what felt like years.

He walked her back towards the bathroom. He practically had to carry her. He set her down on the toilet and pulled open the shower door, making sure the water fell hot enough to ease their aches.

When he turned back around, she was standing and pulling off her clothes with much difficulty but no shame. He was usually the nudist among them. She looked up at him as though asking for help. He went to undo the buttons on her skirt, smirking at what they might have if they lived to see tomorrow. He spent a good minute trying to undo her bra until, finally, she just turned around so he could see what he was doing.

He pulled her into the shower and shut the glass door. She still leaned on him for strength but her eyes seemed to liven. He kissed her then, as passionately as he felt. His fingers traced her spine, stiff reminders of their past. She shivered but her eyes begged him to pull her closer, hold her tighter.

"Are you real?" she whispered, taking the soap and running it all over his face. He laughed.

"I'm real, love. Can't you feel me?"

She giggled. "On my thigh, yes. Honestly, Draco. We've been practically beaten half to death. Can't you hold your cock back for at least a little while?"

"I haven't seen you in a long time! It's not like you aren't used to seeing my little friend at full attention every other hour I'm with you."

She sighed and turned the soap to his abdomen, which was smeared with layers upon layers of dried mud. He wasn't nearly as attractive to her at that moment as she was to him. It took some time to get him clean. They should have hurried but time was different when they were together. There was nothing outside that room. The hallway could be on fire. They'd still dry themselves off and curl up in bed like the pictures of the century-old werewolf bones, spooning quietly one last time.

They tried to fight their heavy eyelids but it was as impossible as the task that awaited them. And, without another ounce of strength left in them, they fell asleep.

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Draco woke first. The screams had penetrated their stronghold, followed by hurried footsteps and the sounds of exploding portraits. He knew the battle was beginning but he didn't wake Hermione. He looked for his clothes, a white shirt and black pants, and hurried out the portrait hole.

He turned back to the portrait of Liam and gave him a nod. The boy instantly understood and answered in a squeaky voice, "I'll make sure she's safe."

"Don't let her out, if you can."

"The new password?" asked Liam.

Draco sighed and whispered to the canvas' ear, "Lullaby."

Liam nodded and wished him luck. Draco felt around his pockets on his way towards the loud bangs. It seemed silly to go running into the middle of a battle wandless and wearing Hermione's bunny slippers but he barely noticed. The halls were empty but, as he lowered down to the first floor via the shifting stairwells, now aflame, he heard the screams get louder.

A large group of first years was being ushered to safety (whatever that meant) by Argus Filch, who seemed more batshit crazy than usual. He was yelling something about someone named Stonewall but nobody, possibly not even Filch himself, paid him any mind.

Draco watched them disappear through a secret passageway. He thought it'd be safer to get them out into the grounds, not lock them up out of sight for who knows how long but he might as well have been wearing Harry's cloak. Nobody cared that Draco Malfoy was back at Hogwarts or that he was attempting to fight the Dark Lord in bunny slippers. They passed him by as just another sensory explosion on their way out of the flames.

"Why do they always have to set things on fire?" mumbled Draco to himself as he climbed down the final stairs into the melee. Werewolves were everywhere, with a few scattered witches and wizards in-between, trying to fight them back. They might as well have tried to stop a stampede with their bare hands.

He gently lowered himself onto the marble floor. Again, nobody seemed to notice him. The wolves, however, did everything possible to evade him. He felt like he could have walked through them, among them, and been safe.

He smirked and took a step into the carnage. An explosion in the distance sent one of the students in his direction, making him crash down onto his side. They stepped on his right leg as they ran away but the adrenaline didn't let him feel the full pain yet. He knew something had to be fractured.

He cursed to himself and gulped down, trying to remember why he had to be strong and brave and loyal. He looked up at the stairs leading to the third floor, still clear. He could still turn back, still go rest with her until the world finished ending. But he also knew she could never love a coward, no matter what their bodies demanded.

He turned back to the war. The sounds of explosions in the distance and the crash to the floor seemed to have temporarily deafened him but he shook his head and it seemed to slowly subside. The sounds of the other wizards were muffled. Two seemed to be speaking to him, pulling him up off the ground towards a section in the back, but he knew what they were, could feel it as he felt Hermione. They were Death Eaters.

He growled them away and continued through the mess towards Harry, who was being sheltered by three teachers. They held back at least five wolves, all aiming for throats.

"Malfoy, get out of our way!" shouted a member of the DA. Draco didn't know his name because he was a Hufflepuff but he moved out of the way nonetheless. Harry had protection, seen and unseen. He was born lucky. There was no point going there. Draco had to keep them away from the stairs, away from the upper floors where the first years and Hermione hid away.

He punched out one Death Eater before it could shift. The wizard fell down, unconscious, while Draco quickly nursed what he suspected was a broken knuckle. He looked around frantically for something else to hit, someone to save, but he had come into the battle yet and no one was aiming at him. He was supposed to be a Death Eater. No one had given the others the memo not to trust him.

Anyone else only saw the scrawny, scared little blond boy in the corner. They were after a wolf, not Draco. In the battlefield, there were no celebrities, no news articles or money to save you. There was the fight and the best fighter, the smartest fight, always won. It wasn't even a matter of righteousness. God would not smite down the Death Eaters simply because Draco finally realized who the good guys were. His reward for the late realization had been Hermione, not his life, and even she had been temporary.

_Turn, Draco,_ the voice in his head whispered. _It'll be okay. I'll be there with you if you can't turn back. You'll just die alone if you fight as a human._

_No, _replied Draco to Hermione, who still slept. _I won't risk it. You can't follow. This is my test. _

The voice seemed to laugh but Draco knew she was crying. He knew it as clearly as his next course of action.

And he turned.

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**Reviews are better than counting down chapters. The End Commeth...**


	25. Fate and Hermione Granger

**Chapter 25: **_**Fate & Hermione Granger**_

_Five chapters left. I'll most likely be making the final chapters the third part I was meaning to write. I already have a few parts done so the end should be coming quick. Hope you enjoy!_

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Hermione felt a surge of purpose, one so strong that she was guided through a dream as easily as she walked the halls of Hogwarts. The screams, she knew were real but she didn't pay them any mind. All she cared about was the image of Draco in the distance.

They were in a small black-walled room, probably ten by ten by ten feet. An ethereal yellow light shone upon them, making them feel like they were the only people in the world. He looked tiny, more like a house dog than a wolf. She liked to make him seem smaller in her head. Nothing that size could be violent, animalistic, a heartbreaker…

"Draco?" she called to the dream. Even though the room was small and she felt very much within it, he felt far off in the distance. "Is that you? Please talk to me!"

He curled up into a fluffy little white ball. She felt him dying, felt trapped within a body that no longer worked and perhaps was never his.

As she got closer, she started to see a pale hand and black leather-clad feet behind the little dog. She first thought it was an adult Draco hovering over his wolf self. She soon began to see the veiny, white hands of a corpse with a pulse. She saw the dark robes draping to the floor and, soon after that, the face of evil with its slits for a nose.

She called out his name and ran to his side but, when she hugged him as if to shield him from Voldemort's magic, it suddenly felt at though they were finally one person. Her thoughts and his were together as one, crammed into her brain. Every memory; every ache and desire.

They stood and faced Voldemort as one but, no matter how invincible she felt, Voldemort merely smiled and put his hand to their chest. They were immobile, covered in smoke, as he sucked at the core of them. Their energy ran through him like blood through veins and Voldemort's smile grew more sinister, even jovial, until they fell to the floor, exhausted.

She watched the rest of the dream from an immeasurable distance. She was once again all-knowing and alone, watching over their human bodies as Voldemort tore them apart with his bare hands. He'd move a hand through the air and a strip of skin would rip off their skin. No wand or mercy required.

"You have played your parts well, my children. You were perfect," Voldemort lauded himself.

The walls of the room expanded and she saw the Chamber as perfectly as Harry had described all those years ago.

Then, she saw Harry at the makeshift altar, a sacrifice. A series of objects lay before him in a bowl. She couldn't see what they were but, at the same time, they didn't matter anymore. The no longer held their great power. Voldemort closed his hand into a fist, one finger at a time. As he did, the objects exploded into powder one by one. All that was left was Harry. The final object.

Voldemort bent over Harry's mangled body and, as lovingly as a father might caress the head of a baby, smoothed back the hair from his forehead.

"You are the final part of me, Harry Potter. With your death, I become immortal."

Harry caught on fire and, too quickly, turned to ash. Like a drug, Voldemort breathed him in and all that was once Harry Potter was absorbed through his skin. He turned back towards the ghost of Hermione and she saw then the human that had once been Tom Riddle. His skin was a healthy color, his features almost handsome. His hair was dark and silky and his eyes were bright yellow like a wolf's, reflecting the low light in very inhuman ways.

She turned around to see what he was smiling at so triumphantly and saw an army of wolf men standing in endless rows, howling at him. Slave to master. Victim to murderer.

And all went red.

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Hermione awoke at the sounds of screams just outside the bedroom door. Once again, she wished she could wake up to the sounds of laughter and children. She wished she wouldn't find an empty pillow, his scent still polluting the air with the possibility of a loving life that could never be.

She knew there was no laughter for kilometers. The screams outside seemed to exist in her dreams, long before she ever woke, as if she'd been fighting for hours with the rest of them. In fact, if she closed her eyes again, she could see where the hallways had been scorched and the wolves had taken over. She knew where Harry was, trying to defend the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, and where Draco still fought near the entrance to the school.

She saw, without being there, the bits that had been taken out from her beloved school, the books set afire in the midst of battle, and the years of history that now lay scattered in pieces at the enemy's feet.

"Why did you go?" she whispered to herself, hoping Draco would hear her. "Why didn't you wake me?"

No one answered but she also knew she would do the same. The room was hidden so she was safe. She considered staying in until the fight died down but she knew they couldn't win without her. Being tethered to someone else (and stretching that tether as far as it could go) made her feel like there was a greater purpose to everything.

Maybe she couldn't have the life and the children and the possibility of tomorrow, but she could at least help others live her dreams.

As she carelessly walked down the halls toward the Chamber, she felt impervious. She knew everything had been leading up to that day. That fight. That bathroom entrance. That boy. Stupid, blond, disaster of a boy, beautifully hers in eternal ways that normal people could never comprehend.

As she neared the girl's bathroom where the Chamber of Secrets threatened to wake, she realized that they were already waiting for her. Surely enough, the hall was empty, unlike her dreams of past battles. Moaning Myrtle continued to cry in a stall, screeching about awful furry monsters with big teeth who threatened to steal her soul. Her moans annoyed Hermione so she growled through the door and Myrtle disappeared.

Finally, she was alone with her destiny.

She heard a crash at the door and whirled around. Harry leaned against the door. Blood dripped down his arm in swirling lines. It looked like a chunk of his shoulder had been blown away. She grimaced and went to help him stand.

"I couldn't stop them from opening it!" he shouted. The blasts had obviously damaged his hearing.

"It's fine! We're not too late!"

"NO!" he screamed, gripping his forehead as he crashed to the floor. "YOU CAN'T! You can't go down there, Hermione. They're waiting for you. I saw them. They have Draco!"

"It's a trap?" she echoed as she examined his wound. It all seemed so very familiar. She kicked the door closed and rested Harry's head on her lap. "Well, of course it is."

"Ron was hurt too and I lost Ginny. I'm afraid to find her. I saw the wolves attack. I don't know what I'll find if she's dead, Hermione."

That was the first time she'd seen Harry cry since Sirius died. It felt like that day all over again. They were tired of losing people. Hermione knew what was waiting for them if Harry opened the door to the Chamber for her, if they went in after Draco like she saw in her dream. So, she picked up the pieces of her friend and began her plan to cheat fate.

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Draco was swallowed by a black and gray smoke that smelled of a bonfire in hell and looked as alive as Voldemort's snake did before he tore it apart with his teeth. The battle seemed like a whirlpool of blurry, violent memories, already far in the past.

He once again thought of Hermione, who slept safely upstairs, and thanked God.

He knew he should have been afraid. He'd been captured by living smoke that reminded him of his Great Aunt Debbie after her fifth cigar. He had never been inside the Chamber of Secrets but had seen sketches of its interior in his father's dark library. Salazar Slytherin's icy face stared him down in the distance. He was tied up like a pig about to be slaughtered, but with simple ropes. The only thing holding him down was the smoke, which meant Voldemort didn't trust his little monster minions to guard him.

"Draco?" her voice echoed in the dark distance. He heard her footsteps on the wet floor, running towards him.

He called out her name but it came out like a pathetic howl, an almost human howl by werewolf standards. He was too weak and the smoke had begun to burn his eyes.

"Don't move, sweetheart. I'm here. Just rest there," she whispered, looking around to make sure they were alone. They weren't but they figured they had a few moments to say what was needed. "I won't let them take you. They'll have to kill me first."

He whimpered and, despite his four-legged state, nuzzled his large muzzle against her chest lovingly. He closed his eyes and thought of her, of their past, as he'd done before when the wolf threatened to take him over forever. Nothing. He remained encased in fur and smoke.

"You really shouldn't have said that," said a squeaky voice behind her. Hermione felt like the person was whispering in her ear and shivered. The voice was familiar but unimaginable and so, not obvious. She whirled around and saw two figures in the distance. One wore the dark robes of a Death Eater; the other, Hogwarts pajamas.

"Who goes there?" asked Hermione. Her voice echoed ominously and made Draco twinge on the wet floor. He could pull apart the fear in her voice.

The figures stepped closer, wands raised. The dim light revealed Blaise Zabini, handsome and evil as ever, and a less threatening Dennis Creevey.

"Dennis?" scoffed Hermione. Draco was proud to hear a Malfoy laugh leave her lips, just as he relished every time she used profanity in creative ways that were singularly his. "You're the werewolf hiding inside Hogwarts?"

_He's the sniveling idiot that nearly got me expelled?_ thought Draco miserably.

Hermione didn't find it funny at all. "You hurt Colin? Your own brother? And Pansy?" Dennis' face drooped with guilt. Hermione stepped forth with an outstretched hand as if trying to bring him back to the light herself. Draco watched in awe. He'd have run by now, or tried to gnaw someone to pieces. He'd defend her but only Hermione would think people as obviously scarred as the two boys before her could be saved in any way.

_Hermione, come back. Come back to me. They'll kill you without a second thought._

"He won't hurt me," she replied to Draco the wolf. "They need me."

"You can hear him?" questioned Blaise, his wand at the ready. Hermione saw he was wearing a pair of flimsy shorts under his cloak, which meant he was willing and able to shift at any time. "He's right, isn't he? You're mates. That's why you can talk the way you do, no matter your shape."

"What about it? So what if we are?"

Dennis and Blaise smirked at each other. "It means you're in the right place, at the right time, little Mudblood. You're about to usher the beginning of the end of Hogwarts. Welcome to your fate, Hermione Granger," said Dennis.

Hermione looked at Draco, waiting for his permission to tear them apart should they strike first. She quickly saw that Dennis was taken over by something besides the wolf. He was too close to gone. Draco's large wolf eyes read something like, _I'm sorry I can't take that blow for you. I'm stuck like this._

"I'll protect you," she whispered back.

Before she could turn back at her adversaries, her sensitive ears heard the slow tap tap of another wolf inching towards her in the darkness. She felt them all, the way one feels the cold after opening the front door in the middle of a snow storm. Sudden. Devastating. She couldn't see an escape, not given the mountain of heartbeats that now made themselves known in the dark distance.

_I was sure we were alone,_ thought Draco, almost apologetic for leading her into the trap.

Still, the others threatened with their presence but didn't encroach upon them. The heartbeats stayed in the dark. For a moment, she thought they were figments meant to inspire fear but neither Dennis nor Blaise knew that sort of magic and both she and Draco felt them.

She felt them as family, heartbeat to heartbeat. She also knew they'd kill her as easily as they killed their food in the wild. They were waiting for a signal. A twitch.

"We're not here to kill you, Hermione," said Dennis. "This is about something greater. This is what You-Know-Who has been planning all along. This very moment has been foreseen years ago. All that we need now is Harry."

She chuckled softly. "We were an accident, Dennis. Get over it. We could have been anyone. There could be other mates out there. An accident. That's all. Voldemort knew nothing. To this day, he doesn't see the world the way we do."

"Seen the future, have you?" replied Blaise, feeling cocky as ever.

"I know how you want this little showdown to end, Blaise, and it isn't going to happen."

His eyes began to glow, the way they did just before the change. "And why is that?"

"Because, even if I am the perfect piece to Voldemort's creepy little puzzle, there's something you will never get," she warned. Dennis too began to change. His limbs tore themselves apart and recombined in new, lupine ways. Hermione let go of her fear like an icy breath and said, "Harry Potter."

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**Reviews are better than stupid, blond disasters. **_Really. Every time I got a review, I wrote a paragraph. You guys are my inspiration. All my love to you. _


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